


The Fickle Finger of Fate

by Teej



Category: Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Drama, Gen, Humor, My version of crackfic?, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-16 09:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 34,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15434361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teej/pseuds/Teej
Summary: Hiko Seijuro wants to fade away into retirement. Fate says otherwise. Much to his disgust.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note:
> 
> I recently stumbled into this fandom through the live action movies. There I saw Fukuyama Masaharu as the oh-so-delicious Hiko Seijuro XIII. That image of him stayed with me. From that mantle he wore (so much better than that gawd awful cloak in the anime!), to his black leather boots and bracers, that gorgeous red robe, his sword and that hair!
> 
> Yep, I got sucked in hard and big time...
> 
> Then Eguchi Yosuke had to show up!
> 
> Ahhh! What's a girl to do?
> 
> Anyway, when you read this fic, picture the Hiko from the live action movies and you'll get my drift! Also, its just my take on things. It may be OOC? Who knows. All I know is I had some fun writing it. It is, for me, crack fic! So it may not be for everyone's liking. One of those "What If" in life that had to be explored!
> 
> Also Chapter Eight is a postscript with some extra notes, should you care to read it.

**__**

## On'nanoko

**__**

(Girl)

**1.**

He knew, the moment he stepped inside his home, someone had been in it.

Pausing just inside the genken, Hiko Seijuro slowly lowered the rather heavy pack he had been carrying to the floor of the hut. He stood stock still, his eyes slowly scanning the room.

His shikibuton, and blanket, were exactly as he left them, unmade and unkempt. The fire was completely out in the irori. The ashes not having been disturbed. The cast iron pot, dangling on its hook from the ceiling, didn't move. His gaze flicked around the room, cataloguing his home. The storage room-door still shut-, the low chabudai, the water buckets and the side table where he had stacked dishes.

Nothing.

Sun filtered weakly onto the tatami covered floor, and dust motes swirled about lazily, disturbed by his entrance into the house. Still, Hiko didn't move. Everything was exactly as he left it. Yet...

Something was off.

Tentatively, he tapped into his chi, trying to sense if anyone was around. His left hand dropped onto the samé (rayskin) covered hilt of his sword. He carried an o-katana, considerably longer than normal katanas to accommodate his height. He continued scanning the room, looking past the wooden casks holding his supply of rice and other dried goods. One finger idly stroked the kagira end cap of the sword's handle. That sword being as much a part of his person as his arms and legs. He glanced at the saké jug and saucer, still sitting on the chabudai where he had left it from the night before.

Nothing.

His narrowed his dark eyes, rescanning again to no avail. He knew, though. Someone had been in his home.

Slowly he knelt, reaching down to tug the strings loose on his waraji's before stepping fully into the house. His lips lifted in a slight sneer, followed by a sniff of disdain as he grasped the top of his heavy pack, picking it up and depositing it next to the chabudai.

Still suspicious, his finger lightly caressing the end of the katana. He approached the storage room door. With his toe, he slipped it under the shoji and slid the panel back. Inside were numerous casks, wooden boxes, some larger chests, stacked floor to ceiling, pushed back against the walls. The only thing that could have possible hid itself in there was a mouse.

There was nothing hiding.

Turning back around, he glanced towards his unmade bed. Frowning, he stepped over to the thick cotton pad, and crouched, flipping the upper half of the bed down over the other. Letting go of the katana, he used his fingers to pry up the tatami mat under where he made his bed. Beneath it, the wooden floor of the hut was revealed. Holding the mat up with his left, he reached down with his right and pried the board up, revealing a small storage area. In it was a metal box, with a latch padlocked on it.

Pulling it out, he slipped a finger under the collar of his thick, cowled, mantle and tugged up a leather strand tied around his neck. A small key dangled from it. Deftly he unlocked the box and looked. A small sack with a drawstring sat inside. With his fingers he touched the sack and knew no one had gotten to it. Hell, no one even knew he kept his stash in there.

Besides being a Master swordsman, Hiko Seijuro was also a potter. A very good one.

A really, very good one.

He smirked a little, his finger idly tapping the small sack in the box. He was the only known potter in the entire district who practised Kintsukuroi. The art of mending broken, valuable pottery with gold. He sighed, still glancing around the house, before reaching into the pack he had brought in and adding another small sack into the box. His trip into the village for supplies included another few ounces of the precious metal for a new commision.

Presently he relocked the box, stowed it back and replaced the mat, before returning his shikibuton to its place.

His chi still hadn't detected anyone, but he couldn't shake the feeling that someone had been in his home. All the same, nothing had been touched. Shaking his head, he stood back up and began unpacking, wondering if age was finally getting to him.

More or less retired now as a swordsman, he was the last practitioner of his particular style, something that had passed from Master to apprentice for thirteen generations. Himself being the thirteenth.

His former apprentice Kenshin was, technically speaking, the fourteenth. He was also a master in their form, but both knew and silently agreed that their form of swordsmanship should die with them. It had to. Their style depended hugely on the practitioner being able to be wholly neutral from the politics and influences of the world around them. Kenshin had failed miserably at that. Both understood that the way the world was changing would force them to choose sides.

Well with him they could try, but they'd fail.

Kenshin's vow of pacifism would prevent his being manipulated.

Yes, their style would die out.

Surprisingly, Hiko didn't mind. He was in his late forties now. Silver was beginning to show up in his long, thick, black hair. As much as he hated aging, despite being nicely in his prime, his joints were beginning to let him know that all the years of tireless training were going to exact a toll someday.

Still, secluded on his mountain, he could honestly stay retired and make his living as the potter, Ni'itsu Kakunoshi. That prospect actually made him happy. Naturally inclined to being anti-social, he found the life of being nearly a hermit suited him very well. He could barely tolerate most people, didn't suffer fools at all, and had a tendency to be arrogant and rude to keep people away from him. Being alone didn't bother him in the least, he craved and enjoyed his solitude.

He would sometimes show up in Kyoto, or even Tokyo, after harder to get pottery supplies, and to upset his former student's routine on occasion. It never failed to amuse him no end telling as many embarrassing stories about Kenshin's childhood as he could remember.

Hiko sighed.

Leisurely, he pulled his heavy, cowled, mantle off, settling it on the hook near the genken. He began putting supplies away, starting with the heavy bag of rice he'd bought. He dumped the contents into its wooden cask, and settled the burlap sack aside for use in the shed.

Pausing in his work, he glanced out the shoji at the smaller hut built nearby. His workshop. He hadn't checked in there just yet. Finishing up, he stepped back into the genkan, slipping on some zori's, and walked across the short distance to his shop. Still on alert, and still trying to use his chi to sense someone around, he approached the fusuma screen.

The shop didn't have a genken, the floor being made of compacted dirt. He slid the fusuma open glancing to the right at a small stool and his Korean imported onggi pottery wheel. Damned if that thing wasn't expensive and his absolute pride and joy. A deceptively simple device to use. A kick wheel at its bottom let him control the speed with his feet while the upper cylinder would allow him to throw and work clay. The onggi itself was no bigger than the stool. Short, stubby and compact. Ideal for a small space.

To the left were shelves loaded full of works in progress, his glazes, brushes, carving instruments and a bewildering variety of wooden and bamboo tools. Set in an underground recess against the wall directly before him where several containers of clay, some draped with old burlap bags. There were several water buckets nearby. He could keep his clay stock cool and moist below the ground and with soaked burlap. Hanging on a peg was a large canvas apron, something which he could use to keep as much of the slip from throwing a piece off his regular clothes.

Directly in front of him stood the work table. On sunny days, he could sit on the opposite side. The sun would flood the table with light allowing him to glaze, carve, or repair pottery to his heart's content. Currently a broken pot in need of his talents in kintsugi was set out on a small square of glass. The shards of the pot needing to be reassembled and glued back into place with lacquer before he applied powdered gold.

He snorted a little in frustration.

Absolutely nothing was out of place.

Frowning again, he stepped back out of the shop, nudging the fusuma shut and walked around behind it and his home. His brick firing kiln was to one side and his toire and ofuro to the other.

He stood there a moment, still trying to sense if anyone was around and came up with nothing. With a shake of his head, he walked back around to the front of the hut, pausing to gaze around. With evening coming on, the birds were beginning their twilight chorus, with a chill setting in. The sun lighted the grounds where he still practised his katas and forms on a daily basis.

Everything was as normal as could be.

Drawing in a deep breath, he shook his head and relaxed, drawing the katana out of his belt and feeling the first rumblings of hunger. Dinner wouldn't be all that hard. He veered to one side of the house, where his kitchen garden grew. Spring onions were coming up well. Those, a few mushrooms he'd harvested to roast, and some of the left over okayu from that morning would satisfy him for now.

Reaching down to grip a couple of the small onion, he suddenly frowned. Usually they required a bit of a tug, even in the rich organic soil he grew them in. These however, slipped freely from the ground. That felt weird. He studied the garden a moment. Daikons, cabbages, cucumbers were coming up, as well as negi and the first few sprouts of konbucha squash. His shiso plants were coming on strong, the perennials that they were.

Tilting his head slightly he examined the dirt. Everything looked normal. It was starting to drive him nuts. He looked at the clump of little onion, idly shaking the dirt off. It felt as if someone or something had pulled them out and put them back without packing the dirt back around them.

He scanned the garden further out trying to see if there had been any tracks. There wasn't a one.

Hiko paused.

Not even his.

He stood stock still. The garden was absolutely pristine, exactly as he had left it that morning.

Except his footprints were entirely gone from the track along side his onions.

He stood up straight, imposing at over six foot tall. He was big by everyone's standards in Japan. Again he tried to sense if anyone was around and came up with nothing. Still it rankled him that someone had been in his garden, messing with his vegetables and wiping out every trace of anyone being in there at all.

That just screamed thief in his mind. Which was something he wouldn't put up with. He shook his head, dark eyes narrowing as he brooded on a mystery he didn't like. It irritated him.

Heading back into the house, he set the slender little onions on the chabudai and turned to the fire pit, dropping onto one knee. The room had dimmed, with the sun starting to set. In mere moments, he'd set wood up, grabbed flint and striker and started the fire for the evening. As he let the tinder catch, he reached over to the nearby water pot, scooping up a ladle and pulled the lid off the leftover okoyu.

He blinked in surprise as he looked inside the pot.

The level of rice had distinctly lowered from what he remembered leaving it at.

Now he had no doubts. They'd even tried to make it look exactly as he had left it.

Someone had been in his house!

Someone who had been taking his food, not only from his garden, but from his own damned cooking pot. Scowling, Hiko looked around the irori, scrutinising every detail he could see around the firepit. He slowly shifted, crab like, to one side, allowing the fading evening light to shine through the genken.

His sharp eyed gaze studied the mats, the genken itself, his winter boots, the flag stone's he'd used to level the floor of the entry with. He suddenly smirked. Aha!

He stepped back into the genken and crouched down near the beginning entry way. Just barely, he made out a smudge on the flagstone, a very faint, dark, smear. He reached down, setting one finger on it.

He lifted his hand, gazing at his fingertip, lightly rubbing it and the frown returned as he carefully sniffed.

His nostril flared and his eyes widened, there was no mistaking that sort of scent. Slightly metallic...

It was blood.

He remained crouched, still feeling the trace of blood on his fingertip as he scanned the immediate area. If there was one smudge of it, there had to be more. Despite whoever it was trying to conceal their presence.

Scanning the area in front of the hut, he simply could not see any other tracks, other than what was his, that he had made since returning home. Scowling, he stood up, wiping his hand down his hakama and stepped into the 'yard'. He could see nothing, so he returned to the garden.

The look on his face soured as he carefully scanned the area surrounding his patch. His tracking skills were adequate. They were superb if he could locate the other's chi. Despite numerous attempts though, he could not sense anyone else in the vicinity. He always knew when someone was approaching the hut from below the mountain, and on rare instances, from the nearly abandoned temple near the mountain's top.

Hiko stood up straight and glanced up through the trees.

The temple.

Maybe...

He stepped back inside the hut where he grabbed and slipped his sword into place. Then he reached for his mantle. With a flick of his wrists, he settled it neatly around his shoulders, before he pulled the cowl down out of his face.

Satisfied, he went back by the garden, reflexively gripping the hilt of his o-katana and headed towards one of two paths that would lead him up towards the abandoned temple. Logic told him to take the path near the creek he routinely used to get water out of. Who ever it was stealing food, would keep close to water. They would eventually give up trying to conceal their traces.

If he could find a track, a footprint, disturbed vegetation, more blood...

Ahhh...

Hiko smiled in self satisfaction. That was more like it. Another smudge of blood, brushed against the grass along side the path. They hadn't seen that, hadn't bothered to hide it. Entering a clearing, Hiko paused and looked up towards the top. Despite the setting sun, he knew this area like the back of his hand. Getting from point a to point b was no problem, even in the dark. It was his mountain after all.

He decided to wait on seeing if he could sense someone up there. Most thieves simply took what they could find and departed for parts unknown at top speed. This situation however smacked of something else. More like trying to just survive without raising suspicions. Hiko smirked. Whoever it was didn't realize they'd run up against a master swordsman. Worse, he despised people who disturbed his home.

Dispensing with trying to track by chi, he simply began heading for the old temple. One path went up by way through trails that switched back and forth leading to the top. The other led to a set of steps and landings. It was towards those old steps, littered with nameless, and countless stone gods and icons, that he headed for. Up at the top, the decrepit remains of the old shrine were slowly being devoured by the surrounding vegetation.

At one point in time the old monks had diverted part of the spring that fed into his creek, creating a large pool near the shrine for the monks that had once lived there. When he had first claimed the mountain for himself, he'd gone up and rerouted the pool to feed back into the creek. Generations of carp had been freed to stock the creek all the way down to the village far below.

The place had been abandoned for decades now. Well, except maybe for foxes and owls, he mused.

He made it to the stairs as twilight took over the world. Nursing his indignation and irritation about having his peace disturbed, he began the climb up to the top. Before the sun completely sank below the horizon, he found two more traces of blood. Both having been wiped at, but no longer being obliterated. Who ever he trailed was getting sloppy.

By the time he got there, sunset barely lit the skies and the place was being plunged deeper into shadow. Night sounds settled all around, indicating nothing was amiss, reassuring that nothing was too badly out of place. Silent as a very large cat, Hiko paused as he crested the stairs and tentatively checked for someone else's chi.

He smirked when he felt it at last. The chi had a bright spark to it, yet seemed to waver, like a candle trying to gutter out. That just set his teeth on edge. Indignation, irritation, add a little annoyance, stir, and you had a fine boiling mixture brewing in the man. With a huff, he headed straight for the source, some where in the dilapidated ruins.

"Look," he said out loud. "I know you're in there. There is no sense hiding. Come out here where I can see you. I know you're stealing things from me." There was a long drawn out pause. He felt the chi flicker again and whoever it was didn't budge.

"Don't make me come in there after you. The situation is bad enough as it is. You can't possibly run now and you won't be able to hide from me again. That is a fact."

Nothing. The bit of chi he could feel still wouldn't move.

Rolling his eyes, Hiko stepped onto the creaky wooden en and entered the darkened shrine. Almost immediately he heard what sounding like the scurryings of a rat and instantly swivelled left, near the doorway. In the darkness he couldn't see into the corners. Whoever it was was in hidden there. Until the chi moved, trying to wriggle towards the corner of the building.

Smirking, Hiko realized where they were.

He decided then and there he wasn't going to prolong the situation either. In a single fluid move, he turned towards the building's corner, dropped to one knee and simply punched through a rotting floor board with his right fist.

He barely caught the sound of a horrified intake of breath before he jabbed through the hole he'd punched and grabbed a fistful of fabric from whoever was under the shrine's old floor. He hauled backwards, stepping out onto the old shrine's engawa, pulling with him a body he realized was much smaller than he expected.

To his credit, he managed to keep any astonishment off his face when he held up a small figure, like holding onto a cat by the scruff of their neck. He had a good fistful of dirty dark coloured haori robe in his hand. Immediately his catch began struggling furiously, trying to free themselves from the hold he had on their robe.

In a blink Hiko got a good look at a pathetically small, cobweb covered, child with a matted tangle of spiky black hair littered with leaves and twigs.

"Hell and damnation!" He exploded trying to shake off a vicious sense of deja vu. Hadn't he seen this once before in his life?

As that realization crashed through his senses, the little creature managed to twist around. They grabbed his forearm, got one bare foot on his chest, trying to push him away. Then they sank their teeth in his hand.

"Ah!" Hiko snarled, and with a simple flick of his wrist he sent the kid flying.

A resounding splash from the pool told him his aim was still dead on, of course, as he shook his hand. Looking at it with disgust, he stepped off the en, moving towards the pool. "Boy!" He snapped, "You just earned yourself a..."

He suddenly stopped. There had only been the one splash, followed by a horrified gulp and a minimal amount of thrashing then…

Nothing.

Thoroughly inconvenienced now he began swearing and plunged into the water. For him, it only came up to his waist. For someone that small...

They'd sunk like a rock.

A disgusted sneer curled his lip as he shoved the sleeve of his robe up and plunged his hand into the water, feeling around in the darkened pool. Almost immediately, he felt the little body, rigid where his hand landed. He clutched the haori again, pulling the kid up out of the water.

The whites of the child's eyes flashed in the fading light of the day, a look of sheer terror on their face as he held them up, water streaming off of them both. The child let out a strangled, choking gasp for air, followed by a gulp and a garbled retching.

Climbing out of the water, Hiko dropped them onto their hands and knees, still keeping a tight grip on the robe. There followed a fear induced vomiting, which wracked the little creatures body at the involuntary convulsions.

He waited just long enough for the last of the water to get out of their system, leaving the kid panting for breath. He pulled them up again by the robe, leaving them dangling, bare feet only just touching the dirt. They looked not unlike a sorry, wet, cat.

Bending down, he got right in the child's face. "Try biting me again, try escaping me again, and I'll chuck you back into that pool." Hiko growled, jerking his head. "Got it?"

From the grubby face, a pair of dark, terrified eyes met his. They were trembling, hard, water dripping in thin rivulets, spattering the ground under them. A nod of the head was all he got for an answer.

That horrible sense of history repeating itself hit Hiko again as he realized how feminine the child looked. Just as skinny as Kenshin had been, possibly a lot smaller, half starved... Why was this happening? Hiko felt his irritability grow. This _could not_ be happening again! It wouldn't happen again.

"I don't like thieves," he announced, "Especially ones who get into my home and try to hide the fact they've been there. Don't even try denying it. I know it was you." For added emphasis, he gave them one good hard shake. "Wasn't it?"

The little head dropped, any tension in them drained away, and they just hung there in his grip. Defeated. Slowly they nodded.

"Speak up!" He snapped, causing the child to jump.

Their head came up, frightened eyes looking at his. Opening their mouth, teeth chattering, no words came out. All they could do was nod, shaking in fright.

It was about then that he caught a certain odor on the light breeze, and he realized that not all was water dripping off the child. His glare got just that much worse as he growled, "This cannot be happening!"

Maintaining his grip, he turned back around towards the pool.

The child, realizing what was about to happen, started twisting frantically again, latching onto his wrist with both hands in a desperately tight grip. No words came from them as they began to hyperventilate in terror. They shook their head, the eyes huge in fright, whites flashing.

Hiko however, had moved past caring. He plunged the child back into the pool. Though he maintained a tight grip on the robe and didn't dunk their head under.

"I asked you a question. I expect an answer!" He growled, holding the child in place. Enough thrashing around in the pool, trying desperately to get out, ought to take care of the immediate problem. Hiko just held them in place until they eventually grew still. Eyes still wild with fright and hanging onto his bracer covered wrist like their life depended on it.

Shaking in terror, the child hiccuped, struggling against tears of fright, and panting almost to the point of passing out.

"You'd better say something," Hiko growled again.

The child just looked at him, opening their mouth, trying to form a word and…

Nothing.

At least no words came out, just a soft, if harsh, gargle.

Then it hit him. He looked at the child sharply.

"Can you speak?"

Too frightened to respond they just clung to his wrist, looking at him in desperation.

Trying not to roll his eyes in disgust, Hiko stood back up, pulling the child out of the water, and plunked them on their feet. Almost instantly, there came a gasp of pain and one leg buckled under them. They sat on their butt with a thump. He still hadn't let go of his grip on the haori, but he dropped to one knee, getting closer to eye level. He reached up and pried their hands off his wrist.

"Calm down," he ordered, when they tried to to keep their grasp on him. "Catch your breath and calm down."

He waited a moment as the child struggled to obey him. Seeing a little progress being made, he said, "Answer my questions, and I won't dunk you back into the water. Got it?"

After a pause he got a nod, and the head dropped in defeat.

"Can you speak?" He asked again.

Very faintly he got a child's whispered answer along with a nod of assent. "Hai."

"Speak up..." he snapped, reaching over and tilting their chin up with one finger to face him.

"I.. I.." Came the stammered whisper. "I can't!"

His eyes narrowed, looking for signs of deception and he quickly put two and two together. "You can't speak above a whisper?"

Another nod and they tried to avert their gaze. Hiko just shut his mouth in a grim line and nudged the child's chin to force attention onto himself. "Why?"

Another shake of the head, a helpless shrug.

"Why because you don't know or why because you don't remember?" He asked.

The child just looked at him like a calf looking at a new gate.

Trying to rein in his impatience he switched track. "Did some one injure you?"

There was a pause, then a slight nod. The child reached up and pulled at the collar of their robe.

Hiko glowered, as they just pointed at their throat. It was too dark to see anything. "Someone tried to strangle you?" he asked.

Another nod, and they tried to look away from him again. The little face reflecting deep shame. Even though he still had his knuckle under their chin, their shoulder's dropped in defeat. The fight leaving them.

"Who did this? Your family? Your masters? Bandits?"

Another shake of the head, the child reaching up to pat their temple, shaking their head and avoiding his eyes at all costs. They tried to speak, stammering badly in a harsh whisper, "I... I... I... don't know!"

Hiko groaned, trying not to suddenly run a hand down his face. "Don't tell me I have another baka on my hands." He twisted slightly and shot a venomous glare towards the dilapidated shrine. "What did I ever do to you?" He grumbled, before looking back at the child.

"Look boy..." he said. "You're nowhere near off the hook with me." He looked at them, disgust writ on his face. "You're going to work off what you took, then I'm taking you to straight to the village to see what they'll do with you. One thing you are not doing is staying here!"

He stood up then, releasing the grip on the robe. The child promptly fell forwards, face in the dirt, hands up in supplication in a deeply reverential bow. He barely made out a pleading whisper from the miserable little form.

"You need to look at me when speaking." He growled.

The huddled little form just shook, whispering again. Hiko sighed and dropped back down on one knee, reaching forward and gripping the child's chin. He forced their head up to face him. "Say it again," he ordered.

"F... forgive me, s...s... sama?" Came the pleading whisper. "I'm not a boy!"


	2. Chapter 2

It had never, _ever_ , been an easy thing to get the better of Hiko Seijuro XIII. Master swordsman. Master potter. Nobody could beat him in a sword fight. Including his former apprentice, who was the only person who even came close. Plus he had fast become the most sought after potter in the entire district, even into Kyoto. Especially in the art of kintsugi. He had an overbearing sense of self confidence that often spilled over into arrogance and conceit.

Rightly so, he really was that good.

This, however, left him open mouthed for a moment in astonished shock. It all suddenly began making horrible sense. The child's height, build and, god forbid, now that he noticed, they only had on a juban, a robe, and the haori, no hakama. The dirty and decrepit haori reached to the ankles. The high pitch in what whisper he could understand. It all added up.

This time he didn't stop himself from running a hand down his face as he grabbed the hilt of his katana in a tight grip. The girl sucked in a breath of terror, dropping back into her deep bow, reaching up to grab her head. He looked at her a second, startled, and realized she thought he was going to...

"No," he abruptly corrected. With a pause he added, "Not sama. Shishou. You call me shishou. For the time being."

After a moment the huddled little girl slowly lifted her head and looked at him, fear and bewilderment on her face. She still had her fingers threaded into her matted hair.

"Shishou-sama?" she whispered and dropped her head back down.

"No, you little baka," he corrected, "Just shishou. What's your name?" He asked firmly. He had to cut through this ultra subservience, fast.

A haunted grief-filled look appeared on her face as she shook her head. "Forgive me, shi... shi... shishou," she whispered, "Shiranai," she kept tapping the palm of her hand against her forehead. "I don't know!"

Why was he getting the feeling that a deep dark hole was opening up underneath him?

Hiko pondered that as he stared at the girl. This was not going to happen again! He'd simply known, that day, (was it over 25 years ago?) when he had encountered eight year old Shinta that he'd found the apprentice he'd been seeking to teach the Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. He'd promptly given the boy a new name. Kenshin.

This, however, _was not_ going to happen! One way or another he was going to get this child off his mountain and into the hands of the police, or an orphanage, or whatever, as fast as he possibly could.

"On'nanoko..." he muttered. It would suffice. No way was he giving this child a name. Decision made, he stood up again.

"Come on, girl," he ordered. "Follow me." He immediately headed for the stairs leading back down towards the path to his hut. He barely heard the sound of the girl scuffling in the dirt behind him, when he reached the stairs and began the decent down.

Lost enough in his thoughts, mostly all very annoyed, angry, and nursing a fat grudge against the powers that be, he failed at first to register if she was behind him or not. Not hearing anything right away, he slowed and turned, stopping between steps, and looked back.

Hiko dropped his head, his shoulders sagging in defeat. Reaching up, he pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered if he had anywhere near enough saké left in his considerably replenished stock to drink away the headache that threatened to split his skull in two.

At the top of the stairs, the girl was taking each step painstakingly slow. Dropping to one knee, setting one foot down, limping very badly on the other, barely balancing on the heel of that one. She tottered badly as she regained her balance, before starting the process over. At that rate it would take her all night just to get to the bottom of the stairs.

Come to think of it...

Hiko scowled, shaking his head. It had to have taken her all day to get back up to that shrine after raiding his place. Hadn't she fallen over when he had let go of her after the second dunking in the pool? There'd also been the blood traces that had led him up there to begin with.

"I'm getting old..." he grumbled, turning around and heading back up the steps. Stopping at eye level to the child he looked at her, disgruntled to say the least.

"What is it?" He demanded. It was getting too dark to see just what could be wrong, but he knew something wasn't good about her foot, it looked swollen, now that he thought about it.

She just stopped, teetering on her one good foot, looking dejected. "Splinter, shishou," she whispered.

He tried hard, really hard, not to groan out loud. Some how, some way, some one was going to pay for all of this. In the most unpleasant ways he could think of. He heaved a sigh, turned around and crouched.

"Climb on," he ordered. "And don't grab my throat," he added, shifting his katana further back.

After a moment's pause he felt her hands on his shoulders. She was a feather, lighter even than that pack he had hauled up from his trip to the village. He twisted slightly, adjusting her left leg over the o-katana's hilt, letting her get wedged between where it and the obi met at his waist, before looping his arm around that same leg. The right appeared to be the painful one, if her wincing in pain was any indication. At least this way, he could keep his sword arm reasonably free. Not that he'd need to, nobody would dare confront him on his mountain. He just shifted her more over to the left then stood up.

Two little fists gripped the thick woven cloth of his mantle at his collarbones. She was, however, still stiff with tension and fear of him. Heaving a sigh, Hiko began walking down the stairs, barely registering the weight of the child. "Just relax," he grumbled, "I'm not going to hurt you. When we get back to my hut, you're going into the furo. All right?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yes what?" He growled.

"Shishou."

"That's better," he rumbled. He curled his arm under her knee, and just through that contact he could feel heat coming off her leg. That wasn't good. "Do you know where your parents are?"

He could feel her shake her head, followed by a hesitantly whispered, "Iie, shishou."

Making much faster progress down the stairs, he began prodding for information. Were you with your parents? Were you with slavers? Were you with family? Had you been taken? Every single question he asked was followed by 'I don't know.' Worse, it seemed to just upset her more and more. She was absolutely rigid, still scared, terrified if anything. She trembled against his back. He could feel her hands shaking where they gripped his mantle.

He switched tactics. "You can bathe yourself, right?" he asked.

"Yes, shishou."

"How about washing dishes, can you do that?" Another affirmative. What followed from his more subtler tactics was a list of simple chores. Someone had at least been raising the girl. Somehow or another they'd also taught her how to hide herself and any presence she left behind.

An uncomfortable feeling about that niggled at the back of his skull.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he veered right, plunging into the undergrowth and headed for his hut.

"How old are you? Do you know that?" he asked gruffly.

"S... Six, shishou." She didn't sound one hundred percent sure.

He barely succeeded in hiding the groan of put-upon despair that threatened to escape him. Great, he thought, a six year old girl! His coaxing answers from her did result in a fractional relaxation. She wasn't shaking quite so bad, but still feared him. Good, he pondered gloomily, keep that thought, kid!

It didn't take him long to get back to his home. Once there he slung the child off his hip, depositing her on the floor next to the fire pit, which had burnt back down to just embers when he had left to climb to the top of the mountain. He reached up to his neck, unhooking the cords that kept the cowl up on his mantle then pulled the whole thing off, dropping it onto the hook by his door.

"Sit there and don't move." He said gruffly, pulling the o-katana free. He set it on the floor at the head of his unmade futon.

She didn't need to be told twice, thank the gods for that. She simply dropped where he had set her. Ignoring her for the moment, he set about rebuilding the fire, and lit a few candles in the process before he turned and got a real, proper look at her.

Appalled didn't quite cover how he felt.

He knew she was filthy, but he barely controlled the horror he felt when he realized that a lot of the dirt on her face and legs was simply dried blood. A great streak of it ran down one side of her face and well into the hair line. Which explained the matt in her short-cropped hair. The haori she wore was also stained. Same with her knees and feet. Both knees where skinned, no doubt from the climb up the stairs.

His gaze dropped to her feet.

The right was swollen. Reaching down he gripped her foot at the ankle.

The girl let out a harsh gasp of pain, trying to scramble backwards as he lifted her foot to see.

"Hold still!" He snapped at her. With a growing dread, he could see where an enormous splinter, it had to be bamboo, had sunk into the flesh just under her toes and into her foot. It was oozing blood, and possibly more. He could feel the fever in the skin. The wound was dirty and had to have been very painful.

"How did this happen?!" he growled looking at her.

She trembled, in pain and in fright, and dropped her head.

Hiko heaved an aggravated sigh. "I know, you don't remember.." he grumbled. He let her foot go and glared at her for a moment. What the hell had happened to this kid? He reached over and lifted her chin again, examining her face in the better light. Sure enough he could make out tell tale bruising in her hair line.

"Your head?" he asked, "Does it hurt?"

Large very dark eyes stared back at him before she nodded her head slowly, not saying a word. The little creature looked exhausted under the dirt and dried blood. It was getting to be too much effort to even talk. As an after thought, he reached up and tugged the collar of her haori aside exposing her throat. Sure enough, there was bruising there too. Worse, it was a suspicious looking bruising.

She shrank back away from him, trembling and beginning to breath hard in sheer fright. It wasn't hard for him to miss. She thought he was going to hurt her. Or possibly do even worse...

"What did I tell you earlier?" He asked. "I'm not going to hurt you. Understand?"

She barely lifted her head, staring at him. There wasn't an ounce of trust in those eyes.

Hiko gave up. "Just stay right there. Don't move," he grumbled, rising to his feet.

She obeyed him to the letter. Not moving as he disappeared outside with a torch. Presently he returned and slid back the shoji to the little storage room. He disappeared inside, rummaging around in the larger chests he had in there. When he emerged, holding several bundles of cloth, he looked at the pathetic creature where she sat. She had bent over, holding her forehead in one hand and her foot with the other. She slowly rocked back and forth.

She jumped like a scared little rabbit when he stopped by her side.

"Stand up," he said gruffly.

With effort, she got back onto her feet, wobbling badly, rolling her bad foot to one side to keep off the wound.

"Put your arm around my neck, but don't grab my throat," he ordered.

She nodded, managing a barely there 'Yes, Shishou,' before he bent slightly and scooped her up off the ground and onto his hip. She let out a startled gasp and clutched at his robes as he swept out of the room.

A single torch was burning behind the hut where a large wooden ofuro had been set up. It was ingeniously fed water by a series of thick bamboo tubes leading from the creek up the incline behind the hut. He had a small fire going as well, where a pot of warming water sat.

Seeing where he was heading, the girl suddenly twisted, pushing away from him, "No! No... Nooo!" she started to protest.

"Stop!" he snapped. "It's just the bath. Not that deep."

"No!" She gasped before he twisted around and dumped her, clothes and all, into the water.

Normally one washed first before getting into a furo. This, however, wasn't normal. She absolutely clung to his robes, nearly pulling him into the water as well. Grunting with annoyance, he reached up with his free hand and pried her hand away, wrapping it around the edge of the ofuro. She started to hyperventilate in fright.

"Stop," he ordered again, looking her in the eyes. "Hold onto the edge and calm down!" He pulled her other hand away, curling it next to the other. She shook so hard the water in the tub, up to her stomach, actually sloshed. She stood there, looking bewildered a moment, and looked down, realizing the water was actually warm.

"See..." he said. "It's not that bad. Now sit down."

It took a few minutes, to his everlasting annoyance, to get her to calm down enough to actually sit in the tub. He left her there to soak, before finally convincing her to tilt her head back. Letting the matt of dried blood and dirt in her hair soften up.

He added another bucket of warm water, before refilling it, then picked up a lump of home made herb soap he preferred from a local villager.

"Now, I'm going to get that mat out of your hair." He explained carefully, "After that, get out of those clothes, and scrub yourself from head to toe."

The bundle of cloth he had brought out of the closet were towels and a very old set of Kenshin's robes from when he had been a boy. Hiko wondered why the hell he had kept them all these years, but was glad he had now.

"There's a towel and clothes here. When your done, rinse off with the water in the bucket." He nodded at the pot warming over the fire. "And get dressed. Then just wait for me here..."

Silent as an owl, she nodded her head.

Once he got the tangled of hair cleaned up, he could easily feel a long welt where she either hit or was hit by something that had caused the head wound. Whoever she had been with had kept her hair cut short. A mark of shame for women and girls.

That niggling at the back of his thoughts began again. He had suspicions as to why that was so.

Satisfied that her head at least was clean and pest free, he left her alone to attend to the rest and went back into the hut. She needed somewhere to sleep, and he had a nasty little operation needing to be performed on that foot. A situation guaranteed to a be an unpleasant ordeal for them both. He was mulling that over as he set up a billet of blankets on the floor in the storage closet. Heh had a number of things needing to get set up before he performed what would amount to battlefield surgery.

Which is exactly as it ended up being. That foot was a whole lot worse than anticipated, taking him much longer that he wanted to get at the entirety of the splinter. Then it needed to be cleaned out as best as possible.

The girl, to his great surprise, never actually passed out from the pain, though getting her to keep still as he had to cut into the flesh of her foot proved to be a challenge. He had to wrap his arm around her leg, to keep her foot still with one hand as he cut and cleaned with the other. She'd bitten hard into a folded up rag, trying to plead with him to stop, and she literally left bruises on his upper arm where she gripped in an effort to keep still.

By the time that he had sluiced the wound out with saké, then firmly wrapped her foot in bandages, she lay completely spent, involuntarily crying from the sheer pain of it. Her whole body wracked in sobs.

She lay there on the mat beside the irori, tears rolling down her face, sucking in air past the rag she had bitten into. Her hands still clutched the fabric of his robe, when he twisted around, gently setting her foot back down.

Unconsciously he reached over, setting one hand on her forehead, reaching over and taking the rag out of her mouth. "I'm done. Calm down, on'nanoko. It's all over, just calm down." He murmured as she feebly squirmed her head away, she couldn't even open her eyes at that point. She could only lay there and cry.

He let her, stroking the top of her head before he realized what he was doing and snatched his hand away with a scowl. What the hell was he thinking? Hiko pulled her hands from off his sleeve. He grudgingly started cleaning up the mess, getting his home back into some sort of order, before starting some water boiling in the firepit.

Brewing up a tea he knew would help fight infections, he turned back towards the child. He scooped her up carefully, shifting her to the little billet he'd created from blankets inside his storage room. She wasn't fully out of it yet, a testament to her stamina, yet was clearly beyond exhausted. Getting a small saucer of the tea, he sat her up and coaxed it into her.

"Go to sleep, on'nanoko..." he rumbled at her, when he laid her back down. "I might be gone when you wake, but don't go anywhere. You're safe in here."

She barely cracked her eyes open, nodding her head, unable to keep her eyes open at all. He settled a blanket over her. Before he could even get up she managed to whisper. "Shishou?"

"What? Didn't I just say go to sleep?" He said sternly, looking at the little figure.

She let out a long sigh, her body trembling before growing still. "Arigato..." she managed to whisper before drifting away.

He sat there for a very long moment, his lips twisted in a thoughtful moue. He finally sighed himself, reaching out to feel her forehead. He wasn't surprised to note it was warm.

"I'm a damned fool!" He muttered under his breath as he stood up and moved over to the door way, snatching up his mantle. He turned and snagged up the o-katana next. This night was going to be a complete waste.

***

"Well," the village doctor said to him. "You're not wrong in your assessments."

He looked up from his little patient to face Hiko, who stood just behind the man. "That's got to be amnesia you're dealing with, from the head wound. In all probability too, someone tried to silence her." The doctor held his hand up to his own throat, placing his thumb on his larynx. "My guess, just from what I can feel, is the larynx is crushed. She may or may not recover her voice given time. You've done a fine job of cleaning out that splinter wound, too."

"Of course," Hiko growled. "I've tended my fair share of battle wounds. I just needed to know if my hunch was correct. That's why I fetched you."

The doctor sighed, giving Hiko a glance of annoyance before he stood back up. The little girl hadn't even woke up as she was being examined by the doctor.

"There's quite possibly a fracture under that wound on her skull. You made a good call in not moving her. I'd suggest strongly you just let her recover here. The memory may return on its own, or it may not. Children will surprise you sometimes. As for the foot, I have a balm I made here, it has several oils and tinctures in it to help fight infections. Keep applying it, as far into the wound as you can go. And let it drain." He pulled out a small pot with a firmly tied on lid, from his supplies.

He chuckled. "I think that's one of your pots," he commented as he handed it to Hiko. "Keep giving her that tea too. One of my wife's isn't it?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. "She needs feeding, too underweight, and rest, lots of it. Little thing is way too exhausted. Never seen a child sleep through an entire examination."

Hiko, if anything, was not in a mood to chatter. Come to think of it, the doctor mused quietly, Hiko never was. He still stood there, arms crossed and looking sour.

"If you see any red streaks on that leg, or if the toes begin to discolour, come and get me. We may need to remove the foot." The doctor heaved a sigh, glancing at the man. "Would you like me to let the police know about this? Maybe ask around town? See if anyone knows about a missing child?"

Hiko pondered on that a moment.

"Discreetly," he finally said, tapping his fingers on the o-katana's handle. "And don't involve the police. Don't let anyone in town know there's a kid up here. Just see if anyone, any group, is missing a child. I have my suspicions who she was with but I have no proof."

"Care to elaborate on that?" the doctor asked. Hiko just glared at him. The doctor sighed. "Have I never been discreet enough for your tastes, Hiko-san?" The doctor asked.

"Loose lips and a single act of carelessness have caused wars," Hiko replied.

"Over a slip of a girl? I highly doubt that. Girls certainly aren't as valuable as boys. You ought to know about that one."

"Kenshin was my apprentice," Hiko grumbled.

"He was still a valuable child. And look what happened there..."

"Your point?" Hiko asked sharply.

The doctor sighed, both of them were tired, neither having slept. Hiko had come down from his mountain in the middle of the night to fetch the man. "Boy children are more valuable, Hiko-san. You know that yourself. Nobody wants to put up with or deal with girls, especially little ones like this. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if she wasn't cast out by her family as one mouth too many. They may have even tried to kill her to rid them of their problem."

"So how about you discreetly ask if any of the villagers in the region are suddenly missing a six year old?" Hiko fired back, knowing full well the doctor was probably right. Though that strange niggling in the back of his mind still hadn't faded away.

"All right, Hiko-san, I'll ask around. I assume you'll want her gone when she recovers enough?"

"What do you think?!" Hiko snapped. "Do I look like I am capable of raising a girl? Not only is that not happening, its a ridiculous waste of my talents!"

"So why bother trying to save her?" The doctor bluntly asked. "Thinking of sending her to an orphanage? She'll probably end up a prostitute or a house slave, possibly even an opium addict. If she's lucky. What kind of life is that? It may have been more merciful to just let nature take its course."

Hiko's eyes widened in both horror and ire. "Lives are precious you know..." He growled. "You're a doctor!" He scolded.

"Says the man who lives by the sword."

"Every person I have ever encountered was given a choice." Hiko shot back, unrepentant. He pointed a finger at the girl. "That on'nanoko deserves a choice too."

"Well," the doctor said gathering his belongings up. "She's going to be living here with you, for a while anyway. She's not going to be walking anytime soon on that foot, and who knows what will happen with the head injuries. All of that is dependant on if she survives the infections and fever."

The doctor stood up straight, looking up at Hiko. "You've got your work cut out for you for the next few weeks."

Hiko mulled all of this over in his head as he walked back up his mountain for the what had to be the fourth time in 36 hours. He'd escorted the doctor home, had to, it still being dark out. He'd made certain that the doctor would be discreet in his inquiries.

He then added that if word got out around the village that Hiko Seijuro XIII was-temporarily-caring for a little girl he'd know who the rumours came from. He would also deal it accordingly. No sense letting the rest of the world know what kind of indignity was being heaped on his shoulders. No way would he end up being the subject of anyone's jokes.

Returning back, pre-dawn barely lit the skies to the east. Constantly, on the solitary walking down and back he wondered what the hell he thought he was doing.

Entering the hut at last, he paused in the genken to remove his waraji's, pulling the mantle off and stepped up into the house. The girl, he was relieved to notice, had burrowed under her blanket and never moved when he silently knelt beside her. A quick check told him she was feverish and the flesh around her foot and ankle was still hot to the touch. He sighed, standing back up, pulling his katana free and set it near his bed.

Without much further ado, he dropped down onto his shikibuton with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes and wondered again what he'd gotten himself into.


	3. Chapter 3

Awaking late in the morning, Hiko sniffed, running his hand up his chest, and laid there a moment, listening to the birds. Reluctantly he opened his eyes, realizing he had lain where he dropped, clothes and all. With a yawn, he rolled over to sit up and reached down to grab the sash tying his hakama on.

About to undo the knot, he stifled a yawn, and glanced towards his storage room.

Sitting there, blinking like a fledgling owl, hair puffed out like a black dandelion, was the girl.

He'd die before he'd admit he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of her sitting there on her billet, watching him. He barely had time to stop the yelp of surprise that threatened to escape and instead his jaw clicked audibly shut. He dropped his hand to the floor, pushing himself further upright and scowled.

“What are you looking at?” He growled, reaching up to jerk the tie in his hair out. 

Her head dropped, avoiding his gaze, shoulders dropping. “Forgive me, shishou,” that soft little whisper reached his ears. “I have to go...” 

“What...?” he started.

Oh.

He groaned, slapping his hand over his eyes and running it down his face. Oh gods... this was going to be the end of him. He got up, moving to the little room and held out a hand. “C'mon,” he said gruffly, beckoning her impatiently with his fingers. She tried to get up on her own, but her foot was now too swollen and unable to take any weight. 

She looked up at him, her eyes full of remorse. He just beckoned again, lips curling down in disapproval. Finally she reached up and timidly took his hand in hers. He pulled her upright, then scooped her up.

Reflexively she grabbed his arm, gasping as pain shot through her foot.

His toire was a simple pit affair, rustic in the extreme, the basic squat style, no door necessary. Setting her down on the wooden floor, he stood up straight and folded his arms. The girl just looked up at him, one hand against the wall and all her weight on her left foot.

“Well?” he growled.

Not saying a word she simply pointed a finger down and twirled it, looking at him inquisitively. The meaning came through loud and clear. Looking upwards and heaving a sigh, Hiko turned around.

Someone had, at least, taught this child modesty, thank the gods for that. However, it still galled him that she had raided his home and tried to erase any presence that she had been there. Not to mention the fact she was staying in the hut with him. If it hadn't of been for that splinter in her foot, he would never have been able to trace where she had hid herself. There was that too. She was good at hiding, from most every one. 

Except a master swordsman with an acute sense of tracking chi. Hiko smirked. He glanced at the furo, refilled from last night's use, noting the wet clothes she had been wearing still sitting there, and came to a decision.

“Done?” he asked.

Her barely there whisper reached his ear. “Yes, shishou.”

Turning, he picked her back up, and as she settled on his hip she whispered, “Thank you, shishou.”

With a scowl, he snorted in reply, walking back around to the front of the hut and set her down on the engawa.

“Sit,” he said. She did so instantly and looked up at him with her large dark eyes. Fear, trepidation and bit of curiosity greeted his stern glare.

“Ground rules,” he said. “I don't tolerate thieves, even little ones who are taking food because they're hungry. Understand?”

Her head dropped and she nodded, reaching down to toy with the edge of Kenshin's old robes.

“Ah ah!” he snapped, “Look up here!”

She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his, “Yes, shishou.”

“You're gonna work that theft off,” he said. “Starting with the dishes.” Then he added, “And I don't let anyone freeload here. Even children. You're gonna do chores, until you're well enough to go to the police station in the village. Got that?”

She dropped her gaze, staring at her feet, shoulders sagging. “Yes, shishou.”

“What did I just say for you to do?” he asked again. 

She looked back up at him again.

“That's better...” he grumbled.

Within moments he had her sitting on an upended bucket, elbows deep in water, washing up dishes. She didn't make a single bit of fuss about doing it as he looked around the hut for something else she could do that didn't require standing. Laundry was a definite yes, sweeping out the hut a no.

As his mind ticked off a do-to list, he stoked the irori fire, then refilled the pot with water. A lot of the basic chores required being able to walk, like fetching water, chopping wood. She might be able to make kindling, if she could handle the ax. He glanced at the irori again.

The firepit needed emptying as well, something he'd also have to do. He looked at the shelves of various pots he was working on in different stages of completion. Some needed carving, some needed glazing, others were completed.

He needed to make more ash glaze. A decidedly wicked smirk quirked the corner of his mouth. Now there was a nasty job someone could do sitting down. He finally put away his shikibuton and comforter, making room in the cramped hut. By the time he had finished the immediate chores, the little girl had completed the dishes. 

She had just set the last item aside when Hiko appeared, glancing at her progress while he reached over to where he kept the rice stored. He scooped out a larger than normal amount. Getting ready to move, the girl looked up at him and held up her hands.

“Shishou?”

Glancing at her, he growled, “What?”

She just blinked, still holding her hands up and then looked pointedly at the rice.

“We'll eat as soon as this gets made and not a minute sooner,” he said.

She looked at him, not unlike looking at an idiot, and in an exaggerated gesture of slumping her shoulders, pointed at the bowl and held her hands back up. 

His eyes narrowed, his mouth curling down in a scowl. “What?” he demanded, handing her the bowl.

What happened next caused him to blink in surprise. 

She suddenly beamed at him, her eyes nearly shutting, nose crinkling, as she gave him an infectious little grin. Then she turned towards the bucket of clean water. Scooping a goodly amount over the rice, she quickly swished it around, raising up a milky cloudy water and drained it off carefully into the other bucket. Then she repeated it several more times until the washed rice water ran clear.

Still grinning at him, she turned and held the bowl up.

Hiko's expression never changed as he took it back.

“Don't think for a minute that grin is getting you out of chores,” he growled, turning towards the irori. 

She had the temerity to actually giggle at him. 

He shot a glare her way as he started the rice to boil. She had risen from where she sat and looked his way as she grabbed hold of a shelf to steady herself. 

“See those two small kegs there, by the rice?” Hiko said. “There's katsuobushi and kombu in them. Get out enough for both of us and I'll make miso for breakfast.”

She nodded her head, giving him a smile and turned around doing what he asked. Moments later, she held up clean bowl with the stock ingredients. He held out a hand, letting her grab on while she used him to hop closer to the fire pit.

“Can you chop up negi?” he gruffly asked.

She grinned and bobbed her head, whispering, “Yes, shishou!” She looked up at him as he set up the little pot for their miso. With a nod from him, she added what was in the bowl to the water, then sat and picked up the small bamboo ladle to stir it.

He let out a huff, shaking his head, then ducked outside a moment to retrieve the new spring onions from his garden. He shouldn't have be too surprised. Girls generally were trained earlier to cook food for the family. Grabbing a couple of the onions he also added a daikon; one ingredient to float, the other to sink in the miso, and headed back into the hut.

Hiko cleaned off the vegetables, then set a small chopping board and knife by her. She set to the cutting up of the radish and onions with enthusiasm. So she really could help cook meals. Hiko shook his head. This little creature, though she still had a deep fear of him, seemed perfectly happy to well, make him happy.

Much to his chagrin, Hiko found himself recalling when Kenshin had first come to the mountain to stay. Though very similar in size, the marked difference—gender aside--was quite obvious. Kenshin had been a traumatized orphan, losing his family, then his freedom to slavers followed by the raid that removed the only three people who had done anything to protect the boy. Kenshin had to be gradually coaxed out of his sub-serviant, almost grovelling shell, overcome survivor's guilt, and his initial fears. Of which there were many.

He knew why the girl had settled down, instinctively. He'd set down rules, made her understand the need to repay what she had taken and what she had to do to 'earn her keep.' A child needed discipline, it gave them boundaries and security. All this he had learned from his own master towards himself and again when raising his idiot of an apprentice. 

Once Kenshin had overcome his issues, he'd literally bloomed under Hiko's severe, but fair, guidance. He'd given the boy what some would have seen as a brutal upbringing but at the same time, the boy had a Master to guide him, not only in swordsmanship but a figure of authority to help raise the boy up. He'd given Kenshin structure and a solid, stable, secure home. Besides, he was raising a swordsman, not a son.

He scowled, turning away. He _was not_ going to do this again. Especially with a girl! What the hell was he even thinking? Definitely not happy that she was even on his mountain, much less his home. He determined that at the appropriate time he'd get her back into whatever authority it would be to take over her care and feeding.

Hiko glanced at her as she carefully added the vegetables to the now simmering dashi stock, setting the knife and board to one side. Picking the ladle back up to stir, he saw her flinch, and one hand went to grind a palm above her right eye. That was the side of her head with injury.

He sighed, picking the cutting implements up and she flashed a little smile at him, dropping her hand. She looked a little flushed and he kicked himself for not remembering it wasn't just the foot injury the girl was dealing with. He'd have to let her get some kind of rest between the work he had planned for her.

Letting her tend to the rice and miso, he stepped back out and over to his workshop, opening the fusuma and letting light flood into the space. It would be a good day to work on getting a new batch of ceramics made. He could have her prepare the wood ash for making his glazes. He stepped inside and inspected the pots he had made and confirmed he was low on his basic glaze base.

He itched to try out a few new ingredients to see if he could come up with a particular shade of green and of a soft cherry blossom pink. Those needed test pieces of pre-fired tiles and he smirked. There would be another little thing she could work on for him. Who knows... he mused, she might even like painting the little clay chips and thus keep herself out of his hair while he threw a new batch of saucers.

Mind made up, he returned to the hut.

By the time they had cleaned up from their breakfast and she had washed the second batch of dishes, the girl had definitely worn herself out. He refrained from saying anything about having no stamina to carry on, knowing it was the head injury causing her pain and fatigue. He'd have been relentless with Kenshin. He tried prodding gently, into getting any more information out of her about her past, but again ran into the roadblock called amnesia.

Leaving her sitting on the hut's tiny porch, he decided now was as good a time as any to go through his kenjutsu forms. Though no longer seeking any security commissions, he still kept up his own training. He wasn't a master of his sword style for no reason. Ducking into the hut he took off his two outer robes, leaving just the white juban and his hakama's. Even though the spring day was a bit chilly, he'd work up a proper sweat in no time.

He dropped to the floor, tying on his waraji's. The little girl, seeing his o-katana, shrunk away, looking at him and the overlong sword warily. He gave her a slight smirk. Just you keep remembering who's boss here, he mused.

“Nothing to worry about, on'nonoko,” he said picking the sword up and rising. “Just sit there, don't move, and watch a Master Swordsman at work...” 

As was his somewhat boastful nature, and because he actually had an audience, Hiko began talking his way through his exercises. Explaining the name of the moves and working up into the more complicated sequences. It took him a forty five minutes to get through the basic moves before he moved onto the complex ones. 

He'd broken a good sweat, feeling pleased with himself for a very good work out and turned to see what his little audience thought of it all. He stopped dead in his track, jaw dropping, mouth slightly open. The girl had leaned over to her right, cushioning her head with one arm and was dead to the world.

“Really?” he grumbled, dropping his shoulders and sighing. “That was a fine workout if I say so myself...” He lifted the now sheathed o-katana. “Well at least you appreciate a master at work.” He said to the sword and with a moue of disgust he entered the genken, untied his waraji's and went in to change clothes while he had a chance.

Coming back out he slipped into a pair of zori. Besides a clean pair of hakama, he'd also put on clean robes. The outer nagajuban having drawstrings at the wrists. There were also drawstrings at the cuffs of his hakama. He'd pushed the sleeves up past his elbows and cinched them down, exposing his muscular forearms. 

He also had a blanket draped over his shoulder. Shaking his head, he lifted the girl's legs up onto the porch then draped the blanket over her. She never stirred. As an afterthought he laid a hand on her forehead and frowned. Still warm.

He heaved a sigh and stood up. Nothing for it for the time being. He'd get more of that tea into her at lunch and clean that foot again. For now though, he glanced at his workshop and a smile drifted across his lips. He had clay to work with.

Over an hour later, Hiko caught a glimpse of movement as he ran his cutting wire under another saucer, separating it from the bat on his wheel. He shook the wooden handle of the cutter loose from the fingers of one hand, and watched as the little girl sat bolt upright. Somehow he wasn't surprised that there were nightmares involved here.

Not moving, he set the wire cutter aside and shifted the saucer over to a drying shelf. Over a dozen other saucers sat there. He intently watched as the girl sat up, blinking, looking confused and flushed. He could see the colour in her cheeks from where he sat. 

He huffed, reaching for a scraper to clean the bat off, contemplating whether or not he should continue. Saucers and small, lidded, pots were the bread and butter of his trade. Quick, fast, easy to make and guaranteed to sell. On his porch, the girl looked around in confusion, grinding the heel of her palm into her right eye. Now there was a similarity with Kenshin he could recall. Confusion and disorientation when waking up in strange places.

“Over here, on'nanoko,” he said out loud. Through a fringe on longer black hair that had escaped from where he'd tied it back, he watched as she looked his way. She reached down and grabbed her foot, looking pained. Her other hand stole up to rub at her throat. 

He could see she wasn't fully awake. Keeping an eye on things, he reached over to his clay scrap pile, unwinding long, pliable, strips he'd cut off from earlier. Using a bamboo cutter, he quickly reduced the strips into a series of tiles to use for testing his glazes, before shifting them to a drying shelf.

Satisfied he'd have enough, he dunked his hands into the water bucket, washing off the majority of slurry from the clay. Snatching up a nearby towel Hiko rose from his onggi wheel, stripping off the canvas apron before dropping it on its peg. One feature of his workshop was the ability to remove a fusuma section to let in even more light and air. He'd done that earlier, and set up certain items just outside the shop for what he planned to have the girl do.

First though, he needed to inspect and clean her foot. A quick trip around back of his hut to wash his hands and arms off properly and he returned to the front. The girl sat there, looking up at him, holding her ankle.

“That,” he said gruffly, “needs to be cleaned.” He pointed at her foot. 

She looked owlishly at him and he shook his head, muttering under his breath about having another little idiot on his hands. Disappearing inside the hut for a moment, he returned with water, towels, fresh bandages and the little pot of ointment the doctor had left. Setting the water down, he handed everything else to her then sat.

“Put your foot up here,” he ordered, patting his knee, and draping a towel over it. At first she didn't move until he shot a glare her way. He could easily read that she knew what was coming. Those big dark eyes, so brown they were nearly black, looked like they were going to start leaking tears.

“On'nanoko...” he growled. 

She hung her head, barely whispered, “Yes, shishou,” and she reluctantly lifted her foot. She flinched several times as he stripped away the bandages. Still swollen and still hot. He frowned, gazing at the angry red wound in the sunlight as she whimpered. He couldn't see any darkening of skin or red streaks. That was a good sign.

“Stop,” he growled, “and quit squirming or its going to hurt a lot worse.” He glared down at her, his hand gripping her ankle firmly. She gave him an obedient reply, her lower lip trembling. “No crying either. This has to be done,” he added.

For the most part, she remained as still as could be, only involuntarily flinching when he had to probe deeper to apply the balm. She grabbed hold of his bicep again, clenching it hard. She whimpered, biting her lip whenever he shot a look of admonition her way. Still, large tears welled in her eyes, slowly rolling down her face. She trembled involuntarily by the time he'd finished.

“Hand me the bandages,” he murmured to her when he set her foot down on his leg. As she handed them over, he handed her the pot of ointment, fixing the lid back on it. 

She shivered, and looked at the pot curiously, as she reached up and smeared the tears off her face.

Wrapping her foot, he felt a tug on his sleeve. “What?” he grumbled, glancing at her.

She looked at him and lifted the pot up. “You?” she whispered, stifling back a cough, trying to clear her voice.

“Me what?” he asked, neatly tying off the bandage. He looked at her just as she sighed. Was that a look of annoyance on her face? 

His scowl reasserted itself on his features. Getting ready to retort, she tapped the pot, then reached over and laid a hand on his. She turned his hand over, running a small finger along some rather deeply ingrained clay in skin on the back of his hand. She looked up at him as he set her foot down.

“Did I make that?” he asked. 

She gave him a shy smile and nodded her head.

“Yes,” he said, looking at her. “I made that. That's what I do.” He nodded at the workshop. “That is where I make those.” 

She peered past him, looking towards the shop, her eyes alive with curiosity. She held the pot back up, questions clearly being asked in her expressive dark eyes. 

“Do you want to watch?” He asked.

She glanced at him and nodded. 

“That can be arranged. You can watch a master at work while you do more to earn your keep.”

He did a double take as she crinkled her nose and grinned at him. He heaved a sigh, bracing his hands on his thighs and standing up. Cleaning up, he came back out as she was trying to stand back up. Holding out his hand, she instantly grasped it, knowing this routine now and he picked her up.

Depositing her on a stool mere feet from his throwing wheel, he moved a large crate he had filled with his wood ashes over by her. Then he put a tray-like box with a fine mesh sieve for a bottom on top of another large empty crate. It had a cloth sack lining it. On the opposite of her he set an empty bucket.

“Now I'm only going to show you this once,” he announced. She looked at him curiously as he reached in, grabbing a large bamboo scoop in the fireplace ash and dumped some into the tray. “You take the ash here and put it in the tray, then you take this...” he handed her a bamboo tool that looked suspiciously like a used tea whisk, “and you strain the ash through the tray like so.” He showed her how to work the whisk through the ash. The results of which gathered as a fine, talc-like, grey powder in the sack under the tray. 

What was left when all the ash was worked through the sieve was the detritus and larger pieces of charcoal from the pit. 

“When you're done here,” he pointed at the tray. “You dumped the bits in here.” He tapped the empty bucket on her left with his foot. “This can get worked into the compost behind the garden. Everything around here gets used.” He handed her the whisk. “Now show me you can do something so simple even an idiot can do it.”

She took the whisk, gave him an aggrieved look, then turned to the task at hand. With a grin, she set to work.

His basic ash glaze consisted of the talc-like powder that could be mixed with other materials and water to form glaze. Once fired, the glaze melted into the standard glassy coating of pottery. Add a variety of ingredients to the glaze and different colours could be made. Hence little tiles of clay were used as test pieces to see what colour he could come up with. 

Standing just behind her to make sure she got it right, he found himself smiling slightly with approval. When he realized it he scowled, shaking his head. She was going to work off her theft and upkeep until he could get her off the mountain, that was it! Sniffing in disdain, he snagged the canvas apron off its peg and slipped it back on. As he tied it, she glanced over at him. Already she had managed to get a smear of charcoal over her nose as she grinned at him, happily attacking the chore at hand.

He shook his head. Sifting ash was a dirty job, especially if there was a breeze. “Little idiot,” he muttered, grabbing his stool, setting himself set up to begin throwing more clay. 

He had to hand it to her though, she set about the refining of the ash with gusto, completing the job fairly quickly. She then watched him with fascination as he began making a series of small, nearly perfectly round pots, with matching lids. He had an audience again, and he explained what it was he was doing, noting that--kenjutsu exercises aside--she was clearly interested in what was happening. 

Finishing off the little pot and lid he was working on, he took a quick break, swapping out the ash working crates, for just a single wooden box. He picked up the plank of wood that his earlier tile pieces were drying on, setting it on the box. Reaching inside the shop, he plucked a tool out of a stubby bamboo container and turned to her.

“These are test tiles, for my glazes,” he explained. “I want you to make threading holes in them, like this.” He picked up a tile and poked the tool he had in his hand near the 'top'. It was a stout, hollow piece of bamboo, perfect for punching holes with. “See?” he asked. “After I fire them, they can be threaded on a string.”

She grinned, nodding her head. Her eyes alight with understanding and excitement. He frowned slightly, studying her eager face as he handed her the tool. “Just set each tile back where you picked it from. Don't stack them,” he said gruffly. “I'll be making more. And these...” he picked up the little bit of clay that he'd poked out. “Go into here.” He indicated his cast off clay bucket which was pretty much the only thing between his wheel and her.

Flashing that little grin at him, she picked up a tile and carefully poked a hole through it. She set it back in place, snatched up the clay bit and dropped it into the bucket. Hiko huffed and shook his head before using his foot to kick the onggi wheel back to life.

Hiko thoroughly enjoyed making a wide variety of items, from basic pots and saucers to vases and jugs. His particular fondness was sakezuki and choko; the saucers and cups used to serve saké, his go-to drink of choice. Not only those, but he could make the jugs too. His customized sets were fetching good prices from fellow connoisseurs amongst the saké crowds in Kyoto. 

Hiko smirked, better yet, hand him any lidless pot and he could also make custom fitted lids. A distinction that master potter's could accomplish. That particular skill is what had led him to learn Kintsukuroi. Folks having him make replacement lids for their pots eventually began asking if he could 'repair' valuable but broken treasures with gold infused lacquers.

He finished up his work on the wheel, made up a bunch more tiles to dry from the strips of cast off clay and finally shucked off of the apron. While the girl continued making his test pieces for him, he cleaned up his hands and arms from the slurry. He turned and reached up to the top of nearest drying shelf, pulling down a sturdy wooden box. 

Setting it on the work table, he nudged his stool closer and tugged the leather cord around his neck out from under his juban. There was a sturdy lock on the box. Unlocking it, he stuffed the key back and flipped the lid open. Inside lay a piece of soft cloth wrapped around a square piece of glass. 

Laying it down before him, he took out several pieces of broken pottery arranging them on the cloth. He'd already figured out how the pieces went back together. Reaching into the box he pulled out the main body of the pot.

Working from the inside out, he'd already glued several pieces back together, using a particular plant lacquer mixed with rice flour. He added a tiny pot of the lacquer mix to the work area and sat back down. With extraordinary care, especially for a man as big as he was, he started to affix another piece into place on the broken pot, gluing it on with the lacquer mix.

Once the pieces were joined, he would carefully 'paint' gold dust painstakingly onto the laquer, allow them to dry then polish them to create gold seams, permanently affixing the pieces back together.

The results were stunningly beautiful.

Hiko took immense pride in it. 

So absorbed was he in his work to attach another piece back together he didn't notice the girl getting up right away. She managed to hobble towards where he sat, holding onto the shop's posts and then the table to where he was working.

“Shishou?” she whispered, pausing and watching what it was he was doing. 

“Hai?” he murmured, setting the piece he had in place and waiting a moment for the lacquer to set.

“I've finished...” she said softly.

“Eh?” he frowned slightly then glanced her way. She stood there, hanging onto the table for support and watched what he was doing. Meeting his gaze, she pointed at where she had been working. All the tiles were neatly set out. She reached over towards him and set the tool she'd been poking holes out with next to him. Then she looked at what it was he was working on.

Seeing her interest, he shot a warning look her way. “This...” he indicated what he was working on. “You don't touch. Understand?”

She nodded her head, looking gravely at him. 

He tapped a finger on the little pot of resin. “This little pot, you especially don't touch. It's poisonous, you don't ever touch it. Got it?” 

“Yes, shishou,” she whispered. 

Satisfied that she listened and understood, he went back to what he was doing.

Watching him a moment she finally asked, “Did you break it, shishou?”

“No, no, I didn't break it. I'm just piecing it back together.” He said. Using a miniature, metal, spatula-like tool, he took a small amount of the lacquer mixture and carefully apply it to the edges of another piece. “This is a special kind of glue. It has gold in it. When I get this all back together, I'll let it all dry, then I'll polish it and the seams will all turn to gold.”

He watched her a moment, she looked worn out again, flushed, and she flinched when he spoke.

“Gold?” she asked. 

Hiko watched her. She looked a little puzzled, a frown appearing on her face, almost like she was trying to remember something. An effort that appeared to cause her physical pain.

“Do you know what gold is?” He asked, carefully setting the latest piece in place, then sitting back. Unsurprisingly she began to rub the heel of her hand into her eye.

“Like ryo?”

“Yes, gold is like ryo. Only this is powdered gold, that I mix with lacquer. That's what I use to put the pieces of this pot back together with.”

“Gold?” she asked softly, her confused little frown increasing, she looked away from him, still grinding her palm into her eye. 

“On'nanoko?” he asked, “What do you know about gold?”

“It's money?” she queried.

“Yes, and...?” he prompted. 

She started to open her mouth to reply but stopped, the words unable to be expressed. She scrunched her shoulders and dropped her head. 

Hiko reached over, catching her hand, and pulled it away from her eye. “Look at me,” he ordered. When she complied he asked. “Is it hurting you to try and remember?” 

“Yes, shishou,” her shoulders slumped, dejected.

He studied her a moment longer, then heaved a sigh, before pushing back from the table and standing up. “Then don't try. Just let it come back on its own.” He held his hand down to her. “Come on, you can help prepare lunch.”

Carrying her back to the hut Hiko was lost in thought. What was it about gold that a six year old girl would try and remember?


	4. Chapter 4

The next several days brought a subtle change to the turn of events on Hiko's mountain.

The girl's foot had healed enough that she was able to hobble about the immediate environment by herself. No longer needing him to cart her from spot to spot. Her memories and her voice were a different story. Neither one was returning, to his chagrin. He tried to focus on the one advantage it did present. 

She was a quiet child. 

Obedient as well, she was quick to do as he asked and took to helping around the place with an enthusiasm that at first puzzled him. She genuinely seemed to enjoy helping him out, especially around his workshop. Despite his mocking, stern, gruffness and sharp quick rebukes, she gradually began getting past her fear of him. He set her to doing the chores early on in the mornings, while he went and practised his kenjustu, then spent the rest of his time either doing repairs around the hut, tending to the garden, or working on his ceramics.

That wasn't all just throwing clay on the wheel and making things. Once the thrown pots reached a particular stage of drying, he could carve them, an activity he sometimes reserved for the evenings as he could work on them at his leisure. A great time to relax, well into the evenings, drinking saké and creating works of art. Then would follow pre-firing, to dry the items sufficiently to be able to take the glaze. Another evening activity for him would be the glazing. Once all that was done came the main firing.

In between things, he'd experiment with different combinations of materials to come up with glazes. Here, he would measure out portions, mix them, and let the girl paint them onto the test tiles. He'd note what he'd used and the amounts for later reproduction if he got something he liked and wished to repeat the process. All this he carefully carved in kanji on the backs of the tiles. He found a happily willing subject, getting her involved with preparing the test tiles. 

At least it kept her quiet and out of his hair. He'd even given her a small, thin, metal-tipped tool to carve whatever she liked on the test tiles. It would help to determine what pooling results came from the glaze puddling along the edges and the grooves, of whatever she carved.

Come to think of it, even though he was letting a girl stay in his home, she really didn't cause much of a ripple in his otherwise solitary existence. For that matter, he didn't mind having someone to boast about his talents with either. She accepted his careful explanations about what he did around the pottery shed with a grin and bright eyed curiosity.

All the same, he kept a steady eye on the progress of that foot. Once she was able to get around without bandages, he'd get her down off the mountain and into whatever authorities would take her in. 

***

To say Hiko Seijuro disliked mingling with the village crowds would be an understatement. Hiko didn't just dislike it, he despised it. Over the years he'd developed a reputation of being an arrogant, disagreeable, recluse. That suited him perfectly. 

He always came into the village with set destinations in mind, making his time amongst the crowds as short as possible. He had good business terms with thoroughly vetted, select, vendors whose wares he liked and desired. Anyone else was ignored, and if he had to interact with them it was with barely concealed sarcasm. The only few he genuinely got along with were the saké vendor, the chemist, the herbalist, and the local pottery crafters.

Though he would sell his basic pottery in town, his better items were commissions, or items he specifically shipped into Kyoto. He had his contacts and his shippers, and his talents were getting good attention. Like his saké bottles. They were bought by brewers and connoisseurs alike. For the brewers he'd glaze on the kanji of the makers directly on the bottles. For connoisseurs he'd get much more artistic, depending on what the client wanted. Other jugs he'd simply make for their artistic merit and sell them to whomever he deemed worthy. 

Generally he never come off the mountain any more without a yoke of crates, stuffed with his wares. He had a middleman, his favourite saké vendor, who would store his items until he was ready to endure a day in the village to sell them. 

That day was rapidly approaching and he had been having the girl help wrap items up in squares of burlap, sandwiched into the crates, and packed in snug with straw. Two crates strapped together and the long pole he used for a yoke and he'd easily cart four crates of wares off the mountain. On the morning of that day, he'd had the girl put on the clothes he'd found her in, long since cleaned and repaired. 

The girl seemed blissfully unaware that he was taking her off the mountain. She just trotted alongside him, trying to match his steps to no avail as he let her carry the things he would need in town that weren't too much for her to handle. One last little thing to pay off her upkeep. At least he comforted himself with that thought. The less she knew about what was coming, the better. 

He kept repeating that to himself as they travelled.

She was alive with curiosity, something he had noticed early on as she got used to the environment around the hut. A typical child, she loved flowers, bugs, birds and beasts. He grudgingly told her what things were, noting it was like pouring water into a sponge. She just kept absorbing whatever it was he told her about. 

After a while, she'd lag behind, see he was getting too far ahead of her and she'd scramble to catch up. Then she'd flash a grin at him, like it was a enormous accomplishment. Hiko just shook his head and sighed. Once he dropped his wares off with his saké vendor, he'd stop by the doctor's to give her a once over. The foot had healed nicely, the throat though... she still couldn't speak above a whisper. Then there were the headaches. Though the scalp wound had healed, she still indicated head pain, which generally left her listless and nothing had returned so far as her past memories were concerned.

“Well,” the doctor mused, watching the girl thoughtfully. She sat obediently, cautiously eyeing the doctor, then Hiko. “I wouldn't expect too much more as far as her throat is concerned. The larynx may be too far damaged, as for the memories,” the doctor shrugged. “Only time will tell whether they return or not. The brain likes to sulk after getting an injury. Otherwise, she's come along quite a way.”

“Did you expect otherwise?” Hiko grumbled, standing with his arms crossed, implacable as granite.

“With you, Hiko-san, yes. You've never really raised a child properly. However, you have done a good job bringing her around. Still plan on turning her over to the police?”

“What d'you think?” Hiko shot an annoyed look at the man, especially at his reference to Kenshin. “She can't stay up there,” he nodded his head in the general direction of his mountain. “At least the so-called police can try and find any relations, or any reports of missing children about the place. If not they can at least take her to the orphanage in Kyoto.”

The doctor suddenly huffed and gave Hiko a rueful chuckle. “Good luck with that,” he said. “As you requested, I've done some discrete asking around. Nobody in the district has reported a missing child, especially a missing girl. Besides, they're too busy to take in a child.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just what I said. Seems that the entire district has been subject to a rash of thefts that finally caught the attention of the Kyoto authorities. Highly valuable items, like jewellery and such are vanishing out of people's homes. Usually in the dead of night. Interestingly, they are just small thefts but what's taken is nearly priceless. It's ruffling a lot of feathers amongst the upper classes. They want it stopped, so they drug our little force into the mess. As if we don't have any trouble around here...”

“Are you saying their gone?!” Hiko snapped.

The doctor shrugged. “Been gone, over several weeks now, shortly after this one arrived at your place come to think of it...” The doctor glanced up at Hiko, who was scowling even worse than normal. The doctor smirked. “Looks like your stuck with her for the time being.”

“Which _is not_ going to happen...” Hiko growled. He sighed, shooting a glare at the doctor.

“Since you've taken on her care and feeding, might I make a suggestion?” 

“You're going to anyway, even if I don't want to hear it...” Hiko snarked. “And I have not taken on her care and feeding!”

“Get her some tabi and sandals, something to protect those feet. It's because she's been barefoot that she got that splinter in the first place.”

Hiko's gaze rose skyward in exasperation. “What did I ever do to deserve this?” he grumbled then looked at the girl. 

“On'nanoko,” he growled, “C'mon.” 

As he turned for the door, she slowly got up and followed him towards the genken. She paused, glancing at the doctor, bowed, whispered 'arigato', then followed Hiko.

“Another thing, Hiko-san,” The doctor said as Hiko began tugging his boots on. “Give the girl a name for kami's sake. You can't keep going around calling her 'girl' all the time!”

“On'nanoko is working just fine!” Hiko replied, lacing a boot up. “And if I wanted your advice, I'd've asked for it.” He stomped his foot down to settle the boot, then snagged the other one. “She's not staying anyway, let the orphanage or the police deal with names!”

Finishing, he stood up to his rather distinct height and looked down at the girl who barely came to his hip. She stood looking up at him, her face expressionless, but he could easily see not only fear, but sadness in the depths of those dark eyes. He heaved a sigh, reaching just inside the doctor's entry for his mantle. The thick weave of the cloth settling heavily over his shoulders and he didn't bother with the cowl, just letting the dark blue collar lie loose.

“Let's go...” he said and with a grimace of distaste he began heading out into the village proper. Silent as a mouse, she fell in behind him. At first keeping up, then lagging, only to jog back.

Hiko knew, the minute he appeared in the market crowds, he knew, the doctor had been talking.

Ahead of him, vendors and customers, seeing him approach--which really wasn't hard considering he stood taller than nearly everybody else--carefully schooled their faces into polite, neutral, expressions.

However, Hiko's hearing was sharp and the minute he would pass, he'd hear the frenetic whispering of gossips. Worse were the occasional explosion of giggles and laughter behind him. His scowl only got that much worse. He made it a point to keep his hand lightly on the grip of his o-katana, drumming his fingers in agitation along the rayskin handle.

The girl, staring around in fear and trepidation, made every attempt to keep as near to him as possible. Eventually latching a hand on the blue trimmed edge of his mantle. Through no action of her own, she was creating her own spectacle, jogging behind the man, clutching his mantle and looking around at all the wondering townfolks. Most of the women kept their hand over their mouths, trying to hide their smiles, whispers, and laughter. The men, not bothering to hide it, would whisper hurriedly, heads close together, before erupting in guffaws.

Even worse were the not so subtly hidden references to history repeating itself as people compared the child to Kenshin from times past. Calling out questions to Hiko as he strode through their midst, all of which he promptly ignored.

By the time he reached a particular clothes vendor he tolerated, he was ready to savage anything that presented itself. 

“Hiko-sama,” the gentleman vendor greeted as Hiko stepped into the selling stall. “What can this humble servant get for you?”

Hiko's hand reached back, dropped on the girl's head, and very lightly clenched as he steered her around in front of him. She shot a fearful glance up at him, sank back against his legs and looked towards the vendor. She wrapped an arm around Hiko's knee.

“I need a pair of tabi and sandal's for this one,” Hiko said gruffly.

The vendor, looking up at Hiko, dropped his gaze down. With a smile he squatted before the girl, “Well now!” he said affably, “who do we have here?” He glanced up at Hiko, “Taking on a new apprentice, Hiko-sama?”

“Hardly,” Hiko bit out, “She's a girl. I'm not teaching Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu to a girl.”

“A girl?” The vendor looked more closely at her. “What a fool I am! And who might you be?”

“She's not staying long enough for civilities,” Hiko said flatly. “She showed up on my mountain with no idea who she is. I'm trying to turn her over to the police to take care of...”

“They've been hauled off to Kyoto. Bad series of thefts going on around there.” The vendor held out a hand to the girl. “Let me see your foot, child.”

“That's what the doctor mentioned. Seems I'm stuck with her for the time being, unless you want her?”

“Me?!” The vendor, having coaxed the girl to let him see her foot, let out a loud guffaw of laughter. She promptly shrank back against Hiko, nearly causing him to stumble backwards.

“Watch it!” he growled. 

“I've got eight mouths to feed myself, I couldn't possibly feed another! Besides my wife, the gods truly blessed and all seven kids are sons! Eat me out of house and home, they do. What would I do with a girl?”

“Give your wife a break?” Hiko shot back.

The vendor just laughed, waving Hiko's comment aside and turned, searching around in his inventory. “You mentioned she has no idea who she is?”

Hiko rolled his eyes, trying to suppress the aggrieved sigh. He loathed making 'chit-chat'. “Head injury,” he said bluntly.

The vendor stood up straight, turning with a pair of dark tabi socks in his hand. “Head injury?”

“I just said that,” Hiko growled. 

“You mean actual amnesia? Can't remember a thing? Not even a name?”

The look Hiko gave him, made him shake his head as he looked at the girl. “Poor little thing! Here...” he reached down and grabbed a second pair of tabi and added them the ones he had. “No extra charge on these!” He patted the socks in his hand and looked around. “Now where are those geta's?”

“Make it waraji's. She's liable to lose the geta's, rather have something she can tie on.”

“Waraji's it is! I think I have just the right size over here...” the merchant bustled about the tables and racks of clothes. He found what he was looking for and exclaimed in triumph, producing a tiny pair of the lace on sandals.

As he settled up the price with Hiko he helped the girl to put them on, showing her how to thread the laces and tie them on. When he stood back up, grinning down at her, she was staring at one foot then the other, her hands holding the extra set of tabi. She looked up at Hiko, wonder and questions in her eyes.

“Doesn't say much does she?” the merchant commented.

“On'nanoko...” Hiko growled, handing the vendor his money.

She looked at Hiko for a split second then turned, bowing low to the shopkeeper. “Arigato.” she whispered.

He smiled, delighted, and looked at Hiko. “What do you plan on doing with her?”

“I'm stuck with her for now. Unless someone here in the village is willing to take her off my hands.”

“After the last rise in the taxes and food revenues around here?” The vendor suddenly looked quite serious. “The people can barely feed themselves and their families. No one around here is going to take in an extra mouth to feed. Especially if it's a girl. You being up on that mountain of yours and self sufficient, you don't see the suppression going on down here all the time. No one is going to just take her off your hands for you.”

“I'm more than aware of what happens amongst the villagers. If I can't get someone local to take her, I may just end up taking her to Kyoto myself. She can't stay with me.” Hiko replied sourly.

“Best of luck there...” the vendor sighed. “Sure you don't want to get her a new set of clothes? These things she's got on are nearly threadbare.”

“And why would I do that, knowing she isn't going to be staying very long?”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, Hiko-sama?” The vendor smiled. 

Hiko just shot a glare at him. 

The vendor shrugged. “It was worth a shot. I've got seven sons to feed after all!” He jingled the change Hiko had paid him and chuckled. 

Things honestly didn't get much better after that... Hiko reluctantly had to take the girl everywhere he went. The girl just followed along after him like a tiny shadow. Frequenting his particular vendors he had to tolerate and endure the same set of questions over and over again. Which left him more irritated than ever. 

So much so, that after getting what he needed, he finally rejoined the saké vendor who tended both their wares as he had gone around town. This freed the man up to go and fetch lunch, leaving Hiko to 'mind the store'. He ended up sitting with his back up against a willow tree, the cord of a saké jug wrapped around his hand. With the bottle balanced just so, he slugged the drink back as he kept an eye on both his pottery and the saké being sold.

The girl slowly sank to the ground besides him, where she ground the heel of her hand into her right eye and stared at the new waraji's on her feet. She'd been fascinated with them ever since the vendor had showed her how to wear them. About the only thing she had said the entire time they'd been in and out in the markets was 'thank you'.

Hiko wondered if they weren't her very first pair. He surreptitiously watched her, noting she looked listless and tired. He heaved a sigh, he had been dragging her from place to place all that morning.

Reluctantly he corked the jug of saké, set it aside, and got to his feet. He peeled out of the mantle, roughly folded it and set it on the ground next to her. “Lay down,” he said firmly, patting the bundle of cloth. “I'll be around the cart,” he added, spotting a few customers making their way towards him. 

His basic revenue was a hot trade in small, lidded pots, saucers, vases etc. As the afternoon wore on the girl joined him around the cart, helping him restock items from the crates inside the wagon. She'd scramble into the back and hand him items to resupply. Afterwards, she'd simply stick near to him as he bargained and haggled over prices with customers. Most of the time, he'd just state a price and remain implacable in dropping it any lower. Especially with his knack for sizing up the general character of a customer.

The crowds were still brisk, a huge variety of men and women of many different classes. Going about their daily business. He had just plucked the girl off the back of the wagon, when his hearing caught the sounds of a commotion in the crowds.

Glancing that way, he made out half a dozen people. Obviously a group that was together, consisting of five men and a woman. The largest man, barrel chested, pot bellied, and powerful, with a long thin moustache and his hair in a top knot, was pointing their direction. He yelled out loud in agitated excitement. 

Hiko couldn't help but notice that the five men were all wearing swords. A glance at the woman and he figured she was probably carrying something of a weapon in the folds of her clothes somewhere. Stepping around the side of the cart away from the group, Hiko picked up his own sword where he had stashed it and slipped it back into place on his left hip.

“Momo!!” the large man was yelling excitedly. “Momo!!” He pointed in their direction, making quite a fuss as he began trotting towards them. He had dressed in fairly rich, finely woven cloth, in dark blues and grey's. The woman, several paces behind him, looked regal in a pale plaid pattern kimono and contrasting flowered obi. The other men were dressed practically, some carrying wares, that the group had obviously been buying. Hiko noticed that two of the 'men' were barely teenagers. The stockier man creating the excitement obviously was their leader.

Something about the man caused Hiko to study him through narrowed eyes. There was false note, he couldn't quite put his finger on. He could feel his own jaw clench as the man, still shouting, 'Momo' came barrelling their way. The man waved his hands in front of him, his eyes wide with excitement, a smile of relief on his face. He aimed straight for the girl.

Seeing the commotion being raised and the strange man, she promptly dove behind Hiko's legs. 

“Momo, on'nanoko! What is it? I've found you at last!” The man babbled excitedly. 

The girl was having none of it. Hiko could literally feel the fear radiating off her chi as she grabbed a double fistful of his hakama, just above his right boot.

“Toko-sama!” The stranger greeted Hiko by his 'trade name', “You've found our little Momo! Momo-chan!” He tried to get the girl to come out from behind Hiko. “It's your goshujin, we've found you at last!”

Hiko, his face inscrutable, looked at the overly effusive man, and his eyes fell on the woman, who stood back aways, her expression blank and as cold as a fish. The other men formed a loose ring behind her. The leader, still bubbling over with loud exclamations, kept trying to coax 'Momo' out from behind Hiko's legs.

Worse still, a small crowd of onlookers was beginning to gather behind them. Whispering and hiding behind their hands and fans.

“Toko-sama!” the man stood up, looking between Hiko and the girl. “You've found our little Momo!  
We've been searching weeks for her, all over the country and in the villages. And here she is!” He looked at Hiko and bowed low. “I'm Shouta, the girl's master!”

Hiko, set like a chunk of granite, finally gave him the merest bow, “Ni'itsu Kakunoshi.” He purposely used his 'other' name. No sense giving anything else away.

“Ahhh! Ni'itsu-sama!” Shouta greeted effusively. “I am deeply honoured!” He bowed again. “We've been looking everywhere for this little one. She got separated from us in the mountains.” He held a hand out to his wife. “She is my wife's hand maiden, our little Momo-chan!” He tried to get the girl out from behind Hiko again.

Hiko could feel her shaking. 

“Momo-chan?” Shouta asked, still trying to get her to even look at him. “We've found you! You can come home now...”

“You say you lost her in the mountains?” Hiko asked.

“Yes, yes, yes!” Shouta said quickly. “West of here, we were travelling from Osaka. Momo-chan, come here to your master.”

“About that...” Hiko said. “When I found her, she'd suffered a head injury.”

“Head injury?” Shouta straightened up and looked sharply at Hiko. “What d'you mean head injury?”

“Just what I said.” Hiko growled, barely hiding the sarcasm. “It's left her with no memory. That's why she's trying to hide. She probably doesn't know who you are any more. She certainly doesn't know who she is.” What was with naming the girl 'peach' anyway?

“No memory!? What am I sup...” Shouta started when the woman behind him suddenly cleared her throat. The sudden switch in tactics wasn't missed by Hiko. 

“Have you got some papers of some sort proving you own her? I have been taking care of her medical and personal needs for several weeks now.” Hiko pointed out

“Well, if its a matter of compensating you for your troubles, have no fear, Ni'itsu-sama. I am more that happy to you for your troubles. We're just delighted in finding her safe and alive. I am concerned about this memory loss though...”

“Just for people and names.”

“She's still capable of serving?”

“Been helping me around my workshop and with the cart.”

“Oh what a relief, thank kami for that! Can't go about retraining her again! She's learned so much.” He reached inside his robes and extracted a flat leather pouch. Shouta dug around inside it, while the other four men all eyed Hiko.

“Here, here!” Shouta said reaching in and extracting a legal piece of paperwork. “The girl's servitude deeds, clearly stating she is ours...” He started to point out the words to Hiko.

“I can read it.” He snarled at the man, taking the paperwork from him. He just gave it a cursory glance, his mind racing and feeling a growing ire building inside of him. Something about this didn't sit right, and the undeniable fact that the girl was clearly the property of this man. He handed the paperwork back. His expression growing more and more forbidding.

“On'nanoko,” he growled, reaching down to her hand to pull it off his pants leg. “Come on around here...”

For the first time she spoke up. “Iie! Shishou, no!” Her grip tightened. She began to back pedal, trying to pull Hiko with her in an effort to keep away from Shouta.

“And as for compensation...” Shouta beckoned with his hand and one of the other men slapped a small leather bag into his waiting hand. 

Hiko, sneering at the man, managed to pull one of the girl's hand's free and he crouched, careful not to turn his back on the men. He pulled her around in front of him. She promptly grabbed two fistfuls of his robes, looking at him with huge eyes full of dread. Trembling, she shook her head, her barely there voice pleading with him. “No, shishou, no, no!”

“On'nanoko,” He said firmly, looking into her frightened face. “These are your people. You have to go with them.” He began to prise her fingers off his clothes. She frantically began shaking her head, breathing rapidly.

“No, no, shishou, no, no, no...!”

“On'nanoko!” He said firmly, forcing her attention on him. “You have to go with them.”

“Allow me, Ni'itsu-sama.” Shouta said, interrupting them. He reached down, slipped his hands under her arms and plucked the girl off the ground.

He got an instant wildcat. As he lifted, she began to twist and kick, frantically trying to free herself, her eyes huge with terror. “Shishou?!” She tried to shriek, her voice breaking into a gargle. “No! No!”

As Shouta dropped her onto his hip, she promptly stiff armed him in the chest, rearing back, trying to get herself as far away from him as she could. She was shaking her head desperately, pleading with Hiko, and trying to kick her way free from Shouta's hold.

The woman suddenly stepped forward, as Shouta tightened his grip on the child and she snatched the leather pouch out of Shouta's hand. Giving Hiko a sneer of contempt, she tugged the drawstring open, blindly grabbed inside of it and shoved the money at him. She looked at him with distaste, her eyes contemptuously looking him up and down. 

Hiko glared hard at the woman, sneering back at her and refused the money. She snorted in disdain and threw it at his feet, then turned and began walking, the four other men parting before her. Shouta, loudly and effusively trying to calm the girl with laughter and cajoling, promptly moved to be ahead of them.

The girl, still stiff arming and struggling against Shouta's hold looked back at Hiko, terror and betrayal written all over her face. She twisted just enough to reach one hand out in his direction.

“Shishou!” She managed to garble, “No! NO!” 

***

Once Shouta had his group out of earshot of the villagers as they left town, he reached up and grabbed the girl's wrists, roughly swinging her off his hip. He dumped her unceremoniously on the ground.

“Get up,” he snarled at the terrified child. “You've been more of a nuisance than you've ever been worth. I've half a mind to just leave you back there with him!”

“So why don't you?” the woman asked, looking distastefully at the girl who was gulping for air, tears running down her face as she looked between them in horror. “I never wanted a 'hand maiden' as you put, in the first place. You only bought her to do your dirty work for you.” She looked at Shouta and mocked, “Who's ever going to suspect a child? And a girl at that. It's just another one of your bright ideas that is failing.”

“And I have been training her damned well to do a specific job!” Shouta snapped, grabbing the girl's robes at the throat and giving the child a rough shake. “I said get on your feet, I'm not anywhere near done with you.” He turned and looked at the woman. “Do you realize who she was with?”

“That disrespectful vagabond? He looks as sordid as the rest of this god forsaken village. He paid absolutely no respect to me or to you for that matter. Why would I care?”

“That vagabond is Ni'itsu Kakunoshi.”

“Again,” the woman asked, clearly irritated, “Why do I care about that?”

“Ni'itsu is a potter, and a kintsugi craftsman. He's known in the prefecture for it. He repairs pots with gold. He has to have a stash of it up in that place he lives in on the mountain. That's what I sent this little ingrate in to find.” He sneered down at the girl. “Apparently that's where you've been staying, so you'd know where he keeps his gold.”

The girl began frantically shaking her head.

Shouta looked back at the woman, who had just the faintest gleam of interest in her eyes at the mention of gold.

“That louche has gold? Here? In this disgusting place? I'm surprised that they could even come up with a gold coin between them all.”

“Oh, that one has much more gold than you'd think. Kintsugi is a repair job done only for the most elite of Japanese. They're the only ones who can afford it!” Shouta chortled. He was almost rubbing his hands together in glee.

“And did you see that sword he was carrying? That is an o-katana. The samé and meguki on that things handle alone is worth a great deal but that length of sword itself is a highly desired item to those Western collectors! One way or another...” he looked down at the child, who was trying to crab her way backwards away from him. “She's going to go back up to that place and get them for me.”

“Goshujin...?” One of the other members of their group cautiously asked.

“What?” Shouta demanded shooting a look his way.

“Are you aware that Ni'itsu Kakunoshi is reputed to be a swordsman?”

“Why would I care about that?” Shouta snapped, glaring at the man.

“Many pardon's, Goshujin-san. My family lives in the next village over. There are rumours that he knows how to wield that sword very well.”

The woman snorted derisively. “A potter? Wielding a sword? All they know how to do is get filthy dirty playing with mud.”

“But why would he be going around carrying an antique sword? Could it be a bluff?” Shouta asked, his eyes narrowed in thought and a smirk grew on his lips. “With his height, I bet that is what it is. He's just a potter and he carries that thing to fool folks into thinking he can use it. Oh, ho ho ho!” Shouta finally did rubbed his hands in glee. “A sword like that could get quite a bit out of those foreign barbarians in our port. I smell a nice profit sitting there, ripe for the plucking!”

He looked at the woman. “What would he be doing wearing an antique sword in a little village? It must be a bluff, I'm certain of it!” He shook his head and waved a hand, before stepping forward and grabbing the girl's wrist. She recoiled, trying to get away from him.

He shoved her at one of the men, who reached out and grabbed her. “Never mind. We've got a few jobs tonight around here and you...” he looked at the girl. “You're going to finish the job I sent you to do and relieve Ni'itsu of his gold and get that sword!”

He started to chortle again. He looked over at her, leering. “You fail this time, and I will dispose of you for good!


	5. Chapter 5

Upon returning home he didn't even bother with eating, he just headed straight for the closest jug of saké and started in. Hiko was one of those individuals that found it nearly impossible to get drunk on the rice liquor. Probably a reason why he enjoyed the stuff so much. This night though... it wasn't for the lack of trying. Angry, disgusted, and dare he admit it... ashamed? He almost completely chugged the first one down before moving onto a second.

No amount of saké would get that image out of his head.

Very late now, the fire in his irori was crumbling to just embers and coals. Slowly, Hiko's lips curled down, eyes narrowing, in a sour grimace of distaste. He pulled the sakezuki saucer from his lips and glared at the clear liquid inside. It had become harshly bitter. With a scowl, he flicked the contents into the fire, causing a momentary flare.

The girl's look of wide eyed horror as she reached a hand out towards him was bad enough. It was seared onto his conscious thoughts. However, the realization that she didn't recognize Shouta and the haunted look of betrayal towards himself, really twisted the dagger in him. 

She had even pleaded with him, for god's sake.

And he couldn't shake the fact that the child was instinctively terrified of the man.

He jerked his head, mouth set in a grim line, the fingers of his left had clenching the fabric of his hakama where it rested on his thigh. He tried to rid himself of the image, his eyes dark and foreboding as he stared across the room at where her billet had been set up in his storage room. 

This kind of thing occurred across Japan every day. Who was he kidding, it happened all over the world. Children were sold into slavery, most were abused. Life wasn't all cherries and roses. Japan was decaying from the inside out and harsh reality could not be avoided. He'd been watching the leprosy affecting his country for years. He even stood in the gaps on occasion trying to protect the people where he could according to the rules of Hiten Mitsurugi.

Hell he'd even stepped in and slew the bandits who had attacked and killed everyone in the slave outfit that Kenshin had been in. Then he'd gone back to see what could be done for the dead only to discover that Kenshin had stayed there and buried them. By himself. Seeing that was what had spurred him into taking the boy on for training. 

Hiko scowled, staring back at the fire, his thoughts churning. Look where that had got them both. Kenshin's idealism had been manipulated to turn him into a paid killer. The results of which had brought about the Kenshin who existed now; a pacific trying to atone for his sins. Something that Hiko had desperately tried to warn him against. He shook his head. His baka deshi.

Kenshin's journey, Hiko's journey, now this girl... Inevitably it would all be for nought. The country's decay was going to continue coming and continue destroying, no matter what he did to try and counter its effects.

He and Kenshin both knew that. Yet that student of his had somehow found a way to balance the march of decrepitude with an optimism often lost on Hiko. He heaved a sigh. He couldn't do anything for that girl. She was property, plain and simple. What Shouta did with his property was his business. Legally speaking, Hiko had no leg to stand on. Best to just cut this nonsense off at the knees and not look back.

But that look of utter betrayal coming from that little girl's eyes as Shouta carried her away, drilled itself right back into Hiko's thoughts and consciousness. That horrified understanding that he wasn't going to reach back out and take her away from someone who claimed they knew her. Someone she was instinctively scared of. Those eyes were going to haunt his dreams. With a growl, he turned towards his shikibuton, snatched up his o-katana where he had laid it at the head of the bed and scrambled to his feet.

“Peach...” he grumbled, snorting in disdain. “Momo. Who would name a girl peach?” 

It was moonless that night, utterly dark, a light haze obscuring most of the stars. He stalked across the yard towards the training ground, slipping the o-katana into its place under his sash. Posts he'd planted, and straw figures for practice purposes, loomed up like silent enemies in the darkness. That was just fine, Hiko thought to himself, a sneer curling his lip. He was in a mood to absolutely demolish something, anything to rid himself of the image of the girl reaching out to him.

With a vengeance he went at it. Crouching into the first stance, his right hand hovered mere inches from the samé hilt of his sword, the left clenching the saya. He paused there, controlling his breathing, staring hard a nearby post. 

Battojutsu, the art of drawing the sword, was a first attack move. In Hiten Mitsurugi it could be so fast it looked as if the swordsman never really moved until after the sword was drawn and held horizontally away from the body. Both Kenshin and himself often times had mowed opponents down before the others even thought to grab their own swords.

It was actually a two handed move. The right pulled the sword out, the left pulled the sheath in the opposite direction. In his case, being so tall and with a blade much longer than normal, its was crucial that he get it out free and fast. That was often missed in the eyes of observers. Which was why the sword and the saya could be such formidable weapons.

Hiko smirked as he paused in position, then he launched his powerful frame into action.

Most of the poles were set up to endure slices and stabs, not to actually cut the things in two. Hiko did just that, going at them in a tightly controlled, furious, frenzy. Stabbing, slicing, cutting... he bypassed any warms up and went straight into the most difficult forms, eventually working up a good sweat as he mercilessly hacked his way around the training grounds. He did not hold himself back, he went at it with everything he had, even focusing the chi energy he was channelling into shouts as he attacked.

It wasn't helping, despite the fury of his onslaught, the girl's pleading face, her hand reaching towards him continued to torment him. With one last furious, upwards strike he hit out at one of the poles. In an instant he knew he hit it wrong. The blade stuck hard and fast, the jarring abruptness of the swing stopping suddenly reverberated unpleasantly up his arm.

He let out a snarl of disgust, looking at the pole with his nihonto stuck fast in it. He grabbed his elbow, feeling the numbness creep up his arm. He rotated his shoulder, shaking his arm loose, willing the deadness away.

Grasping the samé wrapped hilt, he tried pulling it back out, to no avail, and then he lost his temper.

Snarling, he took a step back, and with a burst of sheer anger, he slammed a hard, front, heel kick onto the post. The top broke off where the sword had started to cut through it. Post top and sword fell to the ground with a loud crack and small shower of splinters. 

Disgusted, he reached down and snatched the sword back up, barely seeing the knot in the wood that had caused the blade to stop. He dragged a hand through his long, black, hair. The tie had come out at some point in time. He looked around in the dark, realizing that trying to find it would be a lost cause. He stood up straight and twisted the o-katana about to see if the blade had chipped or bent from the impact with the knot of wood.

Finally, he just heavily sighed, his shoulders sagging. He sheathed the o-katana and returned to the hut. Tossing another log on the fire, he stepped into his storage room and returned with a small wooden box where he settled on the floor. Hiko knew better than to mistreat the sword as he pulled it free from his sash. 

He started to feel like an idiot. 

The irony not lost on him.

He slid the saya off and set the blade on his lap, then opened the little box. Inside lay a strange brass hammer, a small pot with a cork in it, a square of cotton cloth, small sheets of rice paper and an even stranger looking tool. Consisting of a tightly balled piece of silk that was threaded into a hollow stem of bamboo which was then tied onto the handle. The ball of the silk contained highly refined, talc-like, stone powder.

He forced himself to stop and just think. As he folded a small square of rice paper, he slid it along the muné, cleaning the blade of any oils or rust and inspecting it for knicks. He hadn't bent it, despite the amount of force it had taken to actually stop the swing of the attack. His thoughts constantly returned to the girl as he wiped the blade down, then picked up the silk ball.

Very lightly, he tapped the blade until the powder started and a fine coating of it appeared. It didn't need much. With another piece of the rice paper, he began polishing the blade until it reflected like a mirror. Once that was completed, he uncorked the small pot. The smell of cloves permeated the air and he added just a few drops of the choji oil onto the blade before corking the bottle and putting everything away. Pulling the little cloth out of the box he set to oiling the blade, finishing up the job and satisfied he at least hadn't damaged his own damned sword.

He might have damaged a whole lot of other stuff that day, but Winter Moon was still very much intact. He slipped the sword back into its sheath and returned to its place at the head of his shikibuton. Turning back towards the fire, the girl's image resurfaced and he closed his eyes. There was no getting her out of his head apparently. 

He sat still a moment then looked at the chabudai where he and the girl had been doing test tiles just the night previous. He'd been mixing small test batches of glaze, experimenting for colour and he'd let her use the thin sharply pointed tool to carve whatever she wanted on one side before he'd carve what was in the glaze on the back.

Tilting his head, he reached over and pick one of the tiles up.

He hadn't really been paying close attention when he let her carve on the tiles. Mostly he just wanted the ridges and valleys of a carving to puddle the glaze to see what kind of results it would get as he sought to create his own colours. He stared a moment at the tile, frowning slightly, then he reached over and grabbed another one. Gazing a moment at it he reached over and picked up a third.

A realization started to wash over him like a slow motion, cold shower. “Inchiwamu?” He whispered, staring at the first tile. The single squiggle of the carving revealed itself to be an inchworm. He looked at the second one. “Gacho...” he breathed, softly. Three flowing lines, creating the image of a goose in flight. 

Hiko shook his head, she'd been with him nearly two weeks and he knew she had no idea how to write or read. He looked at the third one. “Také,” he whispered staring at a bamboo stem with one node and three leaves, rendered with only five lines. He stared at the other tiles, making out even more images, and some not so much. 

One thing was certain, at six the little girl was drawing, with incredible minimalism, the natural world around her. A little nurturing here, a bit there, and a talent like that could...

A rumble of thunder from an approaching storm rolled around the mountains surrounding his home. Signalling the arrival of a Spring storm. Rain began to pelt the hut.

“Ah dear gods!” Hiko groaned, running his hand through his somewhat wild looking, long, black hair. “What the hell are you trying to do to me?”

***

The storm proved to be more than one. They seemed to chase each other around the mountain range for the remainder of the night and well into the wee hours of the morning. Hiko finally gave in, never bothered to get out of his clothes, and crawled under his kakebuton, almost immediately dropping off into a sleep that was neither restful or deep. He just kept having dreams. The girl, Kenshin, previous wars and skirmishes he'd been in. All marched like an endless line of ants across the screen in his mind. 

He managed to ignore the thunder and hard driving rain. Yet he never really fully fell asleep. Drowsing almost the entire night only added to the events of the day, leaving him weary and irritated. He lay there, back to the irori, eyes closed, tuning out the thunder that was slowly rumbling away. The only thing he couldn't fully shut out was the incandescent, white hot, flashes of lightning that lit the mountains up like a fireworks show.

He was in that state, half asleep, half awake, when another flash of lightning, briefly flared through the hut, followed by a enormous crashing. Hiko jerked slightly, frowning and cracking open one eye. Far far away he heard the rumbling taper off from the thunder. He blinked his eyes open then slowly sat up, pushing the comforter down. 

Since when did thunder 'crash'? Thunder always exploded, then pealed, rolled and rumbled, like a kumi-daiko drum ensemble. He looked around the hut and followed a long ingrained hunch. 

He searched for the presence of chi energy.

Instantly he felt it and he scrambled to his feet, snatching up the o-katana. Stumbling into the genken to shove his zori onto his feet, he grabbed the storm shutter, jerked it open and looked out into the utter darkness that engulfed his surroundings. 

A stiff, cold wind caused the surrounding trees to thrash, and the rain was still coming down, only not as hard and fast. The yard was drenched however, and the sound of water dripping off nearly everything could be heard. He looked over towards the workshop, as a flash of lightning lit the yard. Far off, the thunder rumbled, losing its teeth.

The crashing that had woke him up was much louder than the departing storm's voice. 

Searching the workshop entrance he could see the fusuma panel was slid open just slightly. He knew he'd shut it hours earlier. The chi energy, just a flicker, was coming from there. He gripped the saya in his left, and headed for the shop. 

Already in none too pleasant a mood, he positively seethed as he approached the shop. His hearing picked up the sound of more pottery crashing to the floor, each break and shatter causing him to flinch. Reaching up to grab the fusuma, he drew it aside so hard it broke free of its gutter and fell.

He knew, he could tell by the chi, it was her.

“Is this the kind of gratitude I get for taking in a little thief?” He snapped out loud as he scanned the darkened interior of the workshop. The shelf of drying greenware that had been directly to the left and ahead was tipped over towards him, the upper shelf resting against the support posts.

A flash of lightning revealed a macabre scene of chaotic destruction. Anything that had been on the shelves were scattered and shattered all around the interior of the shop. The table had been knocked sideways and one of the stools had fallen over. Hiko grabbed hold of the shelf with his right and slammed it hard back into place, not caring as more pottery fell and shattered. The whole shop shook at the force of his slamming the shelving back into place.

In the midst of the pile of broken ceramics was a small dark shape. Lying on their back, a suspicious looking wooden box clutched to their chest. Hiko's anger flared white hot, as he stepped forward, reaching down to snatch the Kintsugi box out of their hands. The figure didn't protest, barely moving and trying to roll onto their side away from him.

It didn't take a great leap of logic to figure out that she had tried to get to the top shelf by using the stool and the table and had caused the whole unit to fall over.

“Is this the thanks I get!?” he snapped out loud again as he set the gold repair box aside. He stepped forward again, reaching out to grab the front of the girl's haori. She was trying to crawl away, obviously stunned by the fall. Her movements were sluggish, not caring as she dragged herself away from him through the broken pieces of ceramics. 

A strange wet gargling sound reached his ears as he gripped the fabric and bodily hauled the child backwards and out of the shop, shards of pottery falling off of her. Pulling her close to face him, he couldn't help but notice she felt like a dead weight in his grip, her head rolled back, seemingly boneless and she barely lifted her arms to try and protect herself.

A strange part of him knew what it was he was seeing, she had obviously been trying to steal, but the question erupted out of him anyway. “What the hell were you trying to do?!” At least that was his intention...

Lightning flashed in the yard again, illuminating the girl's face.

Hiko literally froze in horror, eyes widening, mouth dropping open, the words failing to come out of him.

That brief glare of blue white light revealed half her face was misshapen and swollen. He could see dark smears of blood trailing down either side of her mouth. Feebly trying to raise her arms again, her head fell backwards, her neck unable to support her. That wet gargling sound issued from her again; an attempt to scream, an attempt to cry out in pain?

In his defense, Hiko realized much, much later that he had let go of her haori and she fell to the ground, collapsing in a heap. She barely managed to roll onto her side, sluggishly dragging herself through the mud and puddles seeking somewhere to hide. 

Not unlike a wounded animal.

Blinking a moment in shock, Hiko felt ice running through his veins. His thoughts raced ahead of him, trying to put the pieces together. With a scowl he rose and quickly returned to the hut where he grabbed the first thing he spotted; his mantle hanging on its peg. He set the katana aside, and headed back out into the rain.

Moments later he crouched by the girl. She continued trying to drag herself towards the darkened, wet, bushes to one side of the shop. As he settled his mantle over her, she slipped, falling chin first into the dirt and mud, a gargle bubbling from her throat. She feebly attempted to roll away from him, covering her head in defense, her legs curling to her chest.

“Stop,” he said gruffly, pulling her arms away from her head. He curled her arms across her chest before wrapping her securely in the thick cloak. Scooping her up, he rose and headed back to the hut. She went limp in his arms, her breathing coming in ragged gasps.

He set her by the irori, adding a few more logs to it. Stoking it to get the flames up, the fire illuminated the hut. Stepping into the storage room he grabbed a few towels and crouched besides her. With her arms pinned by the mantle, she couldn't cover her head, yet she still twisted slowly away from him, trying to hide her face, her body shuddering. Hiko realized she was sobbing.

“On'nanoko!” he said gruffly, reaching out to sit her back up, facing him. “What have I told you? I am not going to hurt you...”

He hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her face up. She wouldn't open her eyes, or at least the one she could open. Pain flashed across her face. Her breathing was still ragged as she began to sob in shame and defeat.

What he felt when he saw her face, was a white hot anger he was barely able to clamp into submission. The right side of her face was puffed up indeed, her eye swollen shut, her lip fat and cut, blood still oozing from it. It was just the initial swelling. Under the skin he could see the rising colour of what would no doubt be a deep purpling black and blue bruises. 

Using the towel, he did what he could to remove the dirt and the blood from her face. She feebly tried to pull away, still shuddering with gargled sobs. Frowning, he tugged the mantle apart, and got a clear look at her throat. 

The bruising and swelling was apparent there as well. He grit his teeth, willing himself not to react as he continued trying to clean her up. The grim reality of this child's past 24 hours caused the scowl on his face to harden, making him looking formidable and dangerous. He pulled her arm out, and she flinched hard, jerking in pain. 

He glanced at her wrists. Sure enough, more bruising and harsh red marks. Defensive wounds, not to mention welts and slicing from trying to drag herself through the broken pottery.

Pieces were slowly falling into place as Hiko silently cleaned her up. He even retrieved Kenshin's old clothes again, taking his mantle away, helping her get out of her muddy haori and into something dry. She still cried, the salt from her tears causing her to whimper in pain as it reached her cut lip. She refused to look at him, turning her head away the moment he'd released her chin.

While she cried he could feel the shame and rejection coming off of her in waves. He scowled, more at himself than anything. This turn of events being mostly his doing. Who the hell was he fooling?

It was _all_ his fault.

He let her lay in a dejected ball, as he cleaned up then disappeared back into the storage room. Minutes later he set her little billet up next to the fire pit, just catty-corner from his own bed.

“Sit up, on'nanoko,” he ordered gruffly, scooping her up and settling her on the billet, keeping her up with one hand. With the other he filled a cup with some water getting it into her before wrapping a pair of blankets around her. The security the warm blankets offered caused her to go limp. Tears leaked from her eyes as he tucked the blankets in. Then he sat down next to her, draping a large arm around her shoulders.

“Look at me...” he said, forcing her attention. 

She feebly shook her head no, unable to speak at all.

“On'nanoko,” he said gently, “Look at me.”

She grew still, her head hanging, looking like the pathetic beaten creature she had actually been all along. Her lips, were she could move them, were curled down in grief.

Hiko carefully turned her head, slipping his hand onto her jaw and lifting her chin. “Look at me, girl,” he coaxed.

Her chin quivered, the tears starting again as she shivered in what? Fear? Rejection? She barely managed to open her good eye, looking at him with utterly no trust in her gaze. Dull and dark, the one eye she could look out of, held no hope either.

Why should she trust him? Hiko mused. He'd sent her back to that... continual abuse and quite probably certain death, and she knew it.

“Don't try to talk, all right? Just nod or shake your head. Got that?” He waited patiently before she finally nodded.

“I know what has happened. This isn't your fault,” he said to her, forcing her gaze. He smirked slightly. “I am going to make this right. But I need you to be very, very brave. I need you to do something for me as well.” Making sure he had her full attention he added. “Do you understand me?”

She didn't respond, just staring back into his dark eyes. She didn't turn away though.

“Were you just after the gold?” he asked carefully. 

She finally broke his gaze, looking down, dejected. She shook her head no.

“What else were you after?” he asked.

She couldn't move, her shivering increasing as she just went limp. Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at him, her chin quivering.

“On'nanoko...” Hiko said softly, his arm tightening around her shoulders, holding her close to him. “I said I'm going to make this right.” He lifted her head back up. “Look at me...”

He waited patiently until she finally complied, looking at him with infinite sadness. “No one...” he said to her. “No one is ever going to hurt you like this ever again. Understand? What else were you after here tonight?”

She stared at him, trembling, then she lifted a hand and pointed at his sword.


	6. Chapter 6

“She's late.” The woman replied in a dead monotone, entering the main room of the inn. The sun had just barely risen above the horizon.

“What do you expect?” Shouta replied from where he knelt before a low flat table, carefully lighting the bowl of a long thin pipe. “It's been storming out there. Give it time. She'll do exactly as I trained her.”

“I'd give anything to be out of this god's forsaken village,” The woman said. “To be somewhere civilized, and clean, with people who respect their betters...”

“Once she brings back that gold and that katana, we'll have enough to leave. We'll head straight for Kyoto! Ahhh, the plucking there will be just as ripe! You will have only the finest foods and clothing. And our little Momo will make us even richer,” Shouta replied, drawing on the stem of his pipe, he contently trickled smoke from his lips, eyes half shut at dreams of ill gotten gains.

The woman simply sighed, looking away, her mouth curled downwards in distaste. Sick to death of constantly being on the move. There was a shadow passing by the shoji screen to their room then a very soft tapping. Shouta looked at it with a scowl.

“Come!” he snapped, looking at the screen as it was slid back. 

One of his retainers, bowed very low, said, “Your pardon Goshujin-sama. I bring the report from the camp.”

“Well?”

“The girl has not returned.”

Shouta glared at the man, who refused to look up, and he sat back with a disgusted sigh. “All right.” He said waving the man off with a flip of his hand. “Bring report again this afternoon, if she hasn't returned, I will come to the camp tonight.” 

“Yes, Goshujin-sama!” the retainer replied, obediently sliding the shoji screen shut and fading away quickly.

“Knowing that ridiculous, accident prone, child, she probably fell off another cliff. Maybe this time she'll be dead.” The woman said sourly.

“If our little Momo knows what's good for her, she'll return with what I want and get her dinner for tonight.” Shouta grumbled.

“She's not exactly a sensible child!” the woman replied. “She was a bad idea to purchase to begin with and all she does is resist what she's told to do.”

“But she is a very nimble little thief, my koishii. Thanks largely to me. No one suspects her. She's practically invisible to anyone of note. Which is why she is so perfect for getting into and out of homes. All while leaving no trace.” Shouta smiled, drawing again on the pipe. “She'll bring back Ni'itsu-san's gold and that antique sword. If she wants to live out the week that is...”

***

Much to his disgust, the girl did not return during the day and Shouta showed up in the camp of his retainers shortly after sunset. The four men huddled near an open campfire in a clearing surrounded by trees. As he heaved his way out of a cart he'd hired from a local merchant, he looked around, searching for the child and did not see her.

The four men, all seeing Shouta dismount, knelt and bowed.

“Still no sign of her?” he demanded.

“As you can see, Goshujin-sama,” the messenger from earlier spoke up, not lifting his head. 

Shouta's mouth curled downwards in disdain. “Where's my saké?” he snapped, his eyes darkening. He stepped past one of the men and kicked him aside, taking the best seat near the fire. All four men scrambled, one handing him a saucer and the another uncorking a bottle of the rice liquor. 

They all rearranged themselves opposite from Shouta, who sourly sipped his drink and stared at the flames for several minutes. Shouta indicated they could lift their heads from their obeisance to him. His eyes flicked at one of the men, “You, if she doesn't return by midnight, I want you to go up there and see if she can be found.”

As the man made his appropriate agreements, Shouta just flicked his hand at him, and held his saké cup sideways, wanting more. The one holding the saké bottle filled it quickly.

“If she does not return tonight, one of you will go back up there and find the gold that potter has. We're not leaving this prefecture until I have it and that sword. Once that is accomplished, we'll be leaving for Kyoto.” 

General murmurs of assent were voiced, then one of the men asked. “Your pardon, Goshujin-sama, what if the girl is found?”

“If she has what I want, bring her back here. If she doesn't dispatch her quickly. I'll not tolerate failure. Not even with a child. She had a job to do I expect it to be done.” Shouta replied, “Getting gold off a potter is child's play. She should not have been delayed this long,” 

“Forgive me, Goshujin-san, she was missing nearly three weeks and you found her in his care.”

“And what of it?” Shouta snapped, shooting a glare at the man who spoke. “It works out very well for us that she _was_ with him. After dealing with her yesterday she revealed that she knew exactly where his things are kept. All most valuable information. He keeps gold on his premises for the kintsugi work. She will find it. However, these delays are inexcusable. We should have been back in Kyoto two weeks ago.”

“Won't there be trouble still from that new police force they are setting up?” One of the retainers asked.

Shouta snorted in derision. “Police force!” he scoffed. “They can't even decided if real samurai or lowlife rabble like ronin and peasants should even be in the police force!” Shouta shook his head. “A useless idea, using master-less samurai to patrol the streets to maintain law and order. They tried that with the Shinsengumi and look where that led! They were just as corrupt as all the other 'forces' they tried. Imagine picking servants and merchants and farmers to police a city. Especially those loyal to the traitorous Aizu. What rubbish!”

Shouta held the saucer out. “By the time we get back to Kyoto, they won't even remember where to find their backsides, much less us. They couldn't even keep the 'police force' in this little district now could they?” Shouta shook his head dismissively. “No, no they won't succeed, we needn't bother with them, especially back in Kyoto. Kyoto is far bigger, we'll just blend in with everyone else and no one will be the wiser.”

As Shouta continued pontificating on the useless idea of policing a community with wandering swordsmen, one of the retainers went on alert, reaching a hand for the hilt of his katana. He twisted, as the others noticed him. He focused on the far edge of the clearing, shrouded in the darkness with the trees looming above.

“What is it?” One of the men snapped. 

“She's coming...” the alert member said, indicating a point in the darkness ahead of them.

“Ahhh,” Shouta smiled, over his saucer of saké, “This is more like it...”

Moving very slowly, the girl appeared out of the gloom, stopping right at the edge of the trees. She clutched a large, flat wooden box to her chest. She stopped, looking up at them for a single moment then immediately dropped her head.

“What are you standing there for, Momo?” Shouta snapped irritably. “Bring that thing here.”

She didn't move. She stood rooted in place. 

“Momo!” Shouta snapped, “Get over here!”

She visibly flinched, and began to shake. Hesitantly she lifted a foot to make that first step and simply couldn't.

“Bring her here!” Shouta snapped in disgust, tossing his empty sakesuki at one of the men. 

Another scrambled to his feet. Rushing up to the terrified girl, he simply grabbed her haori collar and dragged her closer, wrenching the wooden box out of her hands. Her legs refused to work and she looked up in horror. She tried to cry out, only a gargle coming from her lips and she collapsed in a heap just before the fire. She looked up, facing Shouta, who was being handed the wooden box she had been carrying.

“What is this?” Shouta demanded, holding the box up, hearing something shift around inside of it. “Is this what he kept his gold in?” He shook the box, then looked at the latch and lock keeping it closed. With a scowl he handed it towards one of the men, “Get rid of that lock...” he growled then he looked back at the cowering child.

Almost instantly, one of the retainers took the box, dropped it on the ground and slammed it with his foot. A loud crack of wood echoed into the trees followed by two more as the man simply destroyed the box. When a finally crack issued forth, he let out a loud shout of triumph, his hand diving into the splinters of wood to extract a small bag. He immediately tossed it to Shouta.

“I thought I told you to bring me that sword as well!” He snapped at the girl as he snatched the bag out of the air. He glared at the child, as he began to open the draw strings.

“Oh,” A disembodied voice mocked casually from behind him. “She did bring you the sword as well.”

The hair on the back of Shouta's neck rose straight up and as he began to turn his head, he caught a glint of cold silver steel. He felt the muné edge of a sword sliding past his ear and his jaw.

A scuffed, laced, knee high, black leather boot appeared next, stepping casually past him as chaos erupted. The blade of the sword flicked inwards, slicing the jawline enough to sting, drawing blood. Shouta jumped back, slapped his hand on his face as Hiko stepped past him. The other four men, all of them, scrambled for their katanas as Hiko walked past the fire.

He'd literally appeared from out of nowhere, it seemed.

He wore black hakama's tucked into the boots and a deep red robe, almost the colour of blood, over a dark blue one. The sleeves weren't as wide as a regular kimono, and they were edged in dark blue. He dropped his left hand onto Winter Moon's hilt, exposing a laced on, black leather bracer protecting his wrist.

His hair was loose, and he leaned forward just enough to look like a predator as he walked up to where the girl cowered. He casually turned the o-katana, running the muné along the webbing of his left hand between thumb and index finger, where he gripped the saya. As the point dropped off into the koiguchi opening, he sheathed it and turned to face Shouta and his men. They had all fallen in around Shouta.

Hiko stood between them and the child.

“N.. Ni'itsu Kakunoshi?” Shouta began to stammer, holding his now bloody hand to his face. As he stared at the man towering over them all, indignation and outrage began to seep in. He started to speak, mouth gaping and flapping. 

Hiko just cut him off. “You ordered you're little thief here to bring you my gold and my sword. You got what you asked for.” Hiko said conversationally. He hooked his right thumb in the sash of his hakama, exposing the bracer on his right wrist. A slow lazy smirk appeared on his lips as he looked across the fire at Shouta. 

“Go on, open the bag. It's the gold you had her steal.” Hiko replied.

Shouta, still holding his face, looked askance at the bag still in his other hand, then back at Hiko. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What are you playing at, Toko-san?” Shouta asked. “You're just walking in here, handing me your gold and your sword? Can't you see you are up against four men? Each one quite accomplished with a sword? They are all samurai, and what are you? A potter...” Shouta spat in contempt.

Hiko heaved a sigh, barely refraining from rolling his eyes. “You sent a child in to steal my gold and my sword. I'm just making sure of the delivery.”

“Oh really?” Shouta's continued to squint at Hiko suspiciously. The hairs on the back of his neck had never gone down. “If it's so simple, send her over here with that sword then.” He paused a moment then looked at the cowering child. “Momo!” he snapped, his glower returning to his face. “Bring that sword to me!”

“On'nanoko...” Hiko murmured, “Cover your head and don't move.”

Instead of doing as Shouta demanded, the child glanced up at Hiko, then promptly dropped, covering her head with her hands.

“Momo!” Shouta snapped, leaning forward and glaring up at Hiko.

“What you are completely failing to understand, miserably I might add, is that the sword is me and I am the sword. You want the sword, you've got to take me.” Hiko smirked, looking at all of the men in turn. “And none of you are even close to being capable of winning against me in a sword fight. Simply put, I am the very best at what I do.”

“You're just a potter!” Shouta barked out a laugh, “Carrying an antique sword! Just how tested is something that old? I doubt it very much. It'll shatter with the first strike!”

“Would you like to test that theory?” Hiko asked.

“Momo, I said get over here!” Shouta barked out again. He then glared at one of his men and jerked his head. 

Hiko watched as the man in question, who had dropped his hand on the hilt of his katana, began to approach them. 

“You're the one that took the box from the child...” Hiko stated casually, his gaze never leaving the approaching man's face.

“Momo!” the swordsman snapped, “Obey your master!” He shifted his focus to Hiko. “If you wish to live, potter,” the man said, “stand away from the child and hand over the sword.”

“If you wish to keep the hand that touched this child, I'd suggest you drop your sword and start running like hell.” Hiko replied. He hadn't moved up until then. “Just be aware though that you probably won't be able to out run me.”

“Or you'll what?” the man sneered, fingering his sword.

Hiko became a blur. There was a faint hiss in the air, followed by a wet, sickening thud. Seconds later, they all stared. Hiko had set one foot forward, knees flexed, posed in a very dangerous stance to anyone opposite him, all his weight was forward. He held his sword horizontally across his body as he shifted his weight back onto his other foot, sliding the back edge of his o-katana very slowly along his hand before letting the tip drop into place as he resheathed it. 

He didn't even blink.

No one saw the move. 

The swordsman who had been approaching him, stared for a moment in numb shock at his hand lying on the ground before him. Then his gaze shifted to the stump spurting a pulsing stream of blood. 

He began to scream as he scrambled backwards staring in horror between his stump and the thing twitching on the ground. 

“ _That_ hand will never lay a finger on a child ever again,” Hiko replied sarcastically at the retreating man, “Just remember, Hiko Seijuro had mercy on you in not just running you through. Which is really what I would rather do.” He took another step forward, his hands resting on the o-katana. “So do as I suggest, drop that sword, and start running.”

As the horror and realization of what had just happened to him hit the man opposing Hiko, he tried to jerk his katana out of its sheath with his remaining hand.

Another blur of movement and this time everything froze. Hiko had taken another step, just sidestepping past where the girl huddled, his o-katana, at shoulder height, held straight before him.

The other man began gargling, his mouth gaping open. Blood started gushing like a geyser from a fatal neck wound. The man fell backwards in slow motion horror. Hiko had simply impaled him though the throat.

“Feh!” Hiko snorted in disdain, flicking the sword sideways to get rid of any blood. He vertically re-sheathed it and took a careful step around the girl. “Idiot!” he spat as he turned towards the others, keeping himself between them and the child.

Hiko's gaze; cold, predatory, unblinking, shifted to Shouta as the other three men began to react. He smirked at them all. “Next?”

“Gushojin-sama!” One of the other men began to babble. “Gushojin-sama!” He began to back away, gripping his own sword as the other two stepped around Shouta, protecting him.

“Who are you?” Shouta snapped.

“Does it matter?” Hiko replied. “Would you like another demonstration as to whether or not this old antique can deliver another strike?” The smile on Hiko's face was anything but pleasant as he patted the samé covered hilt with his fingertips.

“Don't do it, Master Shouta!” The third swordsman yelped.

“Shut your babblings and get that thing off of him!” Shouta barked at the men.

A very cold, almost reptilian smile drifted along Hiko's lips. “Think twice. Do you really want a demonstration of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu from a true Master? I'd be more than happy to show you as I am, indeed, a true Master of the form.”

“Hiten what?!” Shouta demanded, kicking the back of one of the men's leg to urge him forwards. Shouta began to crab away from the men as Hiko took another, slow, menacing step forward. The third retainer was still babbling in fear. “Shut up!” Shouta shouted above the din.

“Goshujin-sama!” the man protested, “He is Hiko Seijuro XIII!” He stumbled away from Shouta.

“And I have no idea who that is!” Shouta snapped, “What difference is it going to make? He's going to be dead in a few minutes!” Shouta added irritably, clutching the bag of gold as he scrambled to his feet.

“No!” the man shouted, “You don't understand!”

Hiko shook his head, “I'm surrounded by idiots,” he muttered as the other two men split up and began to come around the fire, drawing their katanas. They circled warily as Hiko backed up.

“Don't move, On'nanoko,” Hiko said as he stepped around then stood over the top of the huddled little figure. He crouched, his eyes seemingly focused on Shouta as the two swordsmen approached him.

The two men watched as Hiko's gaze narrowed. All they could see was Hiko appearing frozen in place. His mind, however, raced at top speed; analysing, evaluating, deciding. He stood over the child, crouched, saya gripped firmly in his left hand as his right hovered over the hilt. 

“One. More. Warning...” Hiko said out loud. “There is no way you can beat me. I am faster, stronger and far, far more advanced in swordsmanship than you.”

“Listen to him!” The third man shouted. “He is not joking!”

“You'd better listen to a man who gives you good advice,” Hiko continued. “The moment I draw this sword I will not hold back and you will die.” He said with finality. “You can't possibly hope to win against my superior ability.”

“What an arrogant ass you are!” One the swordsmen sneered. 

Hiko barked out a laugh. “Yes, yes I am. Tell that to your buddy over there.” Hiko said nodding fractionally at the dead man. He smirked, “Especially when I send you to join him.”

“Who's to say it won't be you?” the swordsman retorted.

“Don't do it!” the third man yelled as both swordsman simultaneously went for their katanas.

To say it was a a fight, between worthy opponents, a duel to the death in a battle of wills, would make a mockery of it all. Hiko didn't even try showing mercy. Neither swordsman was even able to parry the blade of Winter Moon as Hiko's battojutsu unleashed hell on them. He hacked through them in a matter of seconds. He didn't even break a sweat. 

Like a dancer, he stepped around the crouched, huddled child, scything down one man then running through the other. As both men fell away, mortally wounded, Hiko slowly stood back up, the o-katana's blade horizontally held in front of him. 

“And that,” Hiko spat out as he stepped towards the dying swordsman who had spoken. “Was just my practice form. I'm not going to waste my genius in Hiten Mitsurugi on lowlife's like you.” He sheathed the sword, the snick of it settling into place almost loud enough to be heard across the camp ground. It sounded in the ears of the dying men like an act of utter contempt.

Hiko stood up to his full intimidating height and looked across the fire at Shouta who was staring in shock at the dead men. The other swordsman, the one trying to warn them all, had his saya out in front of him, right-handed. He had dropped to his knees, looking in white faced horror at the carnage Hiko had left behind.

“Mercy!” He gasped, staring at his comrades. “Please, Master, mercy!”

“That all depends...” Hiko said, walking past the fire.

The swordsman looked up at Hiko in shock, his mouth dropping open in misunderstanding. He started to shake.

“Just who the hell are you!?” Shouta babbled, still backing away, clutching the bag of gold to his chest and looking horrified at what he had just witnessed.

“You should listen to him,” Hiko said to Shouta, “I'm not just a master potter.” He sneered at him. “I'm Hiko Seijuro. I'm the thirteenth generation Master of Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu. No one is capable of defeating me in a sword fight. Only one other person alive can even land a blow on me. Now I want you both to answer a question.” Hiko said. 

“Anything, Master!” said the remaining swordsman, now on his knees, still holding his sword up.

“Don't be so sure about that,” Hiko said. “I'm only going to show mercy depending on the answer to the question I'm going to ask.”

A dead silence had fallen on the camp. Only the sound of the fire crackling could be heard. That and a soft rustling as the child rose from her huddle. Hiko smirked, looking at both men. He focused on the man holding his katana up to him seemingly in supplication.

“Have you laid a hand on that child?” Hiko asked.

Another pause.

“She... she... she is not my slave to lay a hand on!” the man stuttered. 

Hiko stared a moment at him. “Toss that katana towards me.” He ordered the man. 

“Yes!” The man replied hastily and tossed the sword away from him like it was on fire. 

Before it could even hit the ground, Hiko snatched it up. “Get the hell out of here.” He growled.

The man, seeing he was getting the opportunity of a lifetime, literally, began thanking Hiko profusely. He scrambled backwards onto his feet then took off running into the night. Silence descended again, and Hiko could just sense the girl behind him before slowly approaching Shouta.

“So...” he said slowly. “That. Leaves. You.” He looked at Shouta.

Unbelievably he kept opening his mouth. “So what if I discipline my slaves the way I see fit!?” He stood defiantly, clutching the bag of gold to him, glaring at Hiko. “What's mine is mine to do with as I please!” he spat, and looked at the child, who had stopped just behind Hiko. She was trying to watch what was happening through the one good eye she could see out of.

Hiko didn't even speak. Gripping the katana the other swordsman had tossed to him, he whipped the end of it up, slapped his hand on the bottom of the hilt and savagely jabbed Shouta in the throat.

“That's for strangling her.” He said, stepping forwards as Shouta fell back, his hand flying to his throat as he dropped the gold. He gasped and tried desperately to shout but the ferocity of the blow prevented that from happening. As he fell over backwards, Hiko followed, dropping the katana onto the ground. He stepped over Shouta, grabbed the front of his robes and jerked the gagging, suddenly very frightened man back upright.

“Normally, I don't dirty my hands like this but in this instance I'm going to make an exception.” He growled and drew back his right fist. 

He let fly.

Not once.

Not even twice.

He proceeded to pound on Shouta just enough to render to him what he had been dealing to his slave. Finally he shoved him contemptuously into the dirt, then reached over and snatched up the bag of gold. 

Shouta collapsed into a heap, gargling and gagging, trying to protect his face. As he writhed in pain, shock and fear, the girl darted past Hiko's legs and her hand reached under his robe, extracting the flat leather pouch he carried. 

She clutched it to her chest, backing away.

“Do you really honestly believe I would just walk in here and hand you my sword and my gold?” Hiko sneered, tugging the draw string open. He proceeded to dump a bag full of sand into Shouta's bloody face. “Do you honestly think I would be that ignorant to let something like that happen?” He held his hand out towards the child who promptly gave him the leather pouch.

“Now get the hell up!” Hiko barked, straightening back up to his full height. “You and I are taking a trip!”


	7. Chapter 7

Being the larger city that it was, Kyoto's metropolitan police department was normally a pretty busy place. There seemed to be a constant hubbub of noise occurring at any given time. Between the officers, the general public, lowlife riff-raff and the more serious criminals, they all contributed to the ebb and flow of the daily work. Noise levels included.

Policing generally wasn't boring work, something was happening all the time and none of it was the same. For certain officers however, especially the higher ranking ones, the countless interviews, the paperwork and reports could get very boring indeed. One's even higher up, especially when they were being rather seriously put upon, it wasn't just tedious, it became seriously irritating.

Especially when it wasn't even for their jurisdiction to begin with. One in particular decided he'd had enough of the paper shuffling routine to take a smoke break.

He was an exceptionally tall, whip thin, officer. Notable in that he legally carried a katana instead of a sabre from the sword belt around his narrow hips. He presented enough of a menace, simply by standing there, that most everybody avoided him like the plague. This was a good thing, he wasn't in the mood to deal with people, especially in Kyoto. He should be home in Tokyo!

Inspector Fujita Goro, on loan from Tokyo's MPD, glared sourly out the sliding door of an office given to him temporarily. It opened on to a dusty compound where the staff trainers had been working out a bunch of enlistees in an attempt to weed out the weaker applicants. Fujita had been sent to help clear up why a series of thefts over several districts couldn't get solved. He'd been sent to get it wrapped up in a nice neat little bow, and settled, once and for all.

If there was one thing that got under Fujita Goro's skin faster it was dealing with other people's incompetence. Goro had risen to Assistant Inspector for the Tokyo Criminal Division. He worked internal affairs. He also worked as a government spy on occasion. He was a wolf of Mibu! He'd been sent to babysit a botched theft investigation that shouldn't even have been given to him to deal with in the first place!

Needless to say, Fujita Goro, aka Saito Hajime, a feared former captain of the infamous Shinsengumi, was not a very happy man. 

Snatching his little box of wooden matches from off the desk, he strolled out of the office and headed out for the main street entrance to indulge his habit. The cigarette, unlit, was already hanging from his lips by the time he reached the main room of the station building.

In there his day abruptly became less boring...

He couldn't help but hear the commotion as he approached. The noise level had risen, people were shouting, things crashing. Above the din an indignant woman's voice could be heard. He discerned the sound of policemen protesting vehemently about someone carrying a sword illegally, demanding to know what was going on, and who did they think they were anyway?

Who? Saito pondered as he came upon a scene that smacked of utter chaos with a healthy dose of the ridiculous. 

The Sergeant in charge of the front station operations looked apoplectic. Several other regular officers stood over a large, overweight man in bloody robes. He lay, groaning, on the floor, his hands to his face and looking like something had run over him. Standing nearby in a kimono that had been thoroughly roughed up, was an arguing woman, her arm held in the vice grip of a third person.

Saito's gaze settled on that man. 

He managed to keep his own astonishment well hidden. The man could easily look Saito in the eye. They were of identical height. Saito Hajime was one of the tallest men in the country. He couldn't even count on one hand how many people could match his gaze. His beer coloured eyes, usually so narrow no one could read his thoughts, intensified as he studied the man holding the woman's arm.

Not only could he match Saito in height, he also had very powerful strong build. Saito knew in an instant the man was somebody to be reckoned with. No matter that there was a katana... strike that, an o-katana, hanging from the man's sash. The guy's hair was long and tied back loosely, and he literally exuded power. Saito made no mistake about it, from the man's boots to his leather arm bracers, he could definitely wield that sword at his hip.

The man also scowled in distaste and irritation. The entire scene would have been utterly alarming, if is wasn't for the fact that the stranger had a five or six year old b... 

Saito squinted his amber eyes even more, his mind quickly reassessing. No... the stranger had a young girl perched on his hip! The child's head was turned away from him, looking over the man's shoulder and away from the woman. She held onto his arm, hands clutching his robes, like her life depended on it.

“Who the _hell_ is in charge here?” the stranger demanded, shoving the woman forward, releasing her.

She spun around like an angry cat, hand flying out to slap him across the face. 

Saito watched as the stranger simply leaned away from the blow, turned right ever so slightly and took a menacing step forward. He glared at the woman. In Saito's eyes the move was very familiar. A swordsman's move, proving that the highly illegal sword hanging from the man's sash wasn't a decoration. Saito's eyes gained a predatory gleam. The katana looked rather odd. When was the last time he'd seen a sword with a plain round wrapped samé hilt with embedded menuki?

“How _dare_ you manhandle me!” The woman spat. She began spouting off her lineage, her status above everyone else, and demanding respect. She also wanted the arrest of the uncouth, unwashed peasant who had kidnapped her from a certain village, grabbed her in the most inappropriate places, and dragged her to Kyoto.

“Shut the _hell_ up,” the man simply replied, causing the woman to gasp in consternation and indignation. He looked around the room for whoever ran the station. “I'm trying to find our missing, incompetent, village policemen,” he announced, sarcastically. “Anyone care to tell me where they might be hiding?”

Saito bristled a little. Incompetent might be close to accurate but it was still their police force being maligned.

“And why would you want them?” he asked casually as he leaned back against a fusuma panel and extracted a wooden match from the box he held. The man's eyes finally shifted and settled on him.

Saito watched as he was expertly assessed. A very slow smirk appeared on the man's face. Saito hid his frown. He narrowed his eyes to mere slits as he studied the stranger across from him. His thumb struck the sulphur tip of the match, igniting it and he calmly lit his cigarette, idly shaking the little flame out. That first satisfying draw hid most of his scrutiny as he let the smoke trickle out, obscuring his features.

“Well...” the stranger said, lip lifting in a smirk, “ _Someone_ with an ounce of intelligence.”

Saito's scrutiny abruptly shifted to ire, his eyes widening at the audacity of the stranger in front of him. The smirk on the man's face grew more pronounced. Both knew the stranger's remark had hit its intended target.

“Intelligence notwithstanding, what brings this about?” Saito replied, reaching up to pull the cigarette off his lips and flick the ash off.

“You can't just come walking in here, throwing people around and carrying that on your hip!” The Sergeant in charge protested as a few of the other policemen surrounded the three people, adding their voices to the din. Several of the police had their hands on their sabres.

“Arrest this wretched cretin,” the woman protested. “He's kidnapped us both and hauled us all the way down here!”

The large man on the floor only groaned, gagging and coughing. His hands fell away from a rather bloody and bruised, swollen face. Something apparently had been done to his throat as well.

“He's assaulted both of us,” she added, looking defiantly at the man holding the child. “I demand this gods forsaken police force do their job like they are supposed to!”

Saito's gaze flicked towards the woman, his face still passive. “Hauled you all the way from where?” he asked. 

The woman rounded on him, stiffening in righteous fury, trying to get the upper hand. She spat out the name of the village, glaring at Saito. “Who is in charge of this place?!” She snapped.

“That would be him,” Saito replied dryly, looking at the indignant Sergeant. A flicker of movement caught his eye and he looked back at the stranger.

He murmured something to the child, shifting his hands to set her back onto the floor. As he did, she turned her head, facing him. Saito felt an icy hand clutch his heart. The entire right side of the child's face was purple and blue from deep bruises, the right eye swollen shut along with a fat lip where he could just make out a cut. 

She silently nodded her head as the man freed her from where she was wedged between him and the o-katana and he set her on the floor. She promptly dashed outside, dodging two surprised police offers who suddenly reacted and started to go after her.

“Oh, relax!” the stranger snapped in irritation, his gaze shifting back to Saito. “She's just getting something out of the cart.” He dropped his left wrist casually in the crux where the saya met his hip.

“What is the meaning of all this!?” the Sergeant exploded again as the woman started her screeching protests. 

“Enough!” Saito barked. “You...” he looked at the woman. “Shut up!”

“How dare...”

“He said, shut up,” Hiko added. “I'm sick of listening to you!” 

“I don't care if you are sick of me or not...”

“Shut your trap now or face spending an evening in the holding cells.” Saito growled, looking at her. His amber eyes glared into her face.

“And just who do you think you are? He's supposed to be in charge here, according to you.” The woman spat at Saito, she turned to face the Sergeant. “What are you going to do about that man?” she pointed a hand at Hiko.

“I...” Saito cut back in, “am Assistant Inspector Fujita, of Criminal Investigations.” He looked at Hiko. “Who the hell are you?”

“I'm the guy who's solving your theft case for you.” The stranger remarked dryly. “Since the rest of these incompetents can't seem to find their backsides much less a ring of wanna be thieves,” There appeared the faintest of smirks on his lips. “You can thank me for doing your job later.”

“His name is Ni'itsu Kakunoshi,” the woman spat. “He's detained us for absolutely no reason and assaulted my lord, look at him!”

“Ni'itsu Kakunoshi?” Saitro drawled, taking another drag off his cigarette. “Seems I've heard that name somewhere before...”

“You should.” Hiko replied, still smirking. “I'm the best Kintsurugi master in several prefectures.” He nodded his head at the groaning man. ''This piece of dung on the floor is Shouta. He and this creature...” Hiko's gaze flicked to the affronted woman. “I've caught red-handed stealing my gold supply for my work.”

The woman promptly began protesting again. “I have done no such thing! He has assaulted us! And he's now throwing around baseless accusations!”

“Shut up!” Saito and Hiko both roared. Saito drew another deep drag off his cigarette. He had to stop this farce and fast. 

“You...” Saito glanced at one of the police officers in the room. “You're from that village correct?”

“Sir!” the man affirmed. 

“Who is he?” Saito nodded at Hiko.

“That is Ni'itsu-san, sir. He's a potter in our district,” the policeman replied, then he paused. He glanced at Hiko, almost apologetically. Hiko didn't say anything. 

Saito saw the glance. “And?” he prompted.

“He is also Hiko Seijuro XIII. He's a swords master,” the policeman replied.

“A swords master?” Saito asked. A bell of recognition began metaphorically clanging in his head as he looked at Hiko, the somewhat familiar name rising to the surface of his thoughts. It couldn't be... 

“Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu, and I am the Master.” Hiko confirmed.

Saito nearly stopped breathing. He had frozen in place. Worse, he knew that Hiko knew, he had recognized his sword style. He slowly let the smoke trickle out of his mouth before drawing in another. 

“So which is it? Hiko-sama or Ni'itsu-sama?”

“Whichever you want.” Hiko replied, the smirk on his face curling in mischievous delight. “And you? Is it really Inspector Fujita or a wolf in sheep's clothing?”

A long pause enveloped the room.

Saito suddenly barked out a laugh. Oh now this whole situation suddenly upped itself to a wholly different, much more interesting, level.

“Are you going to do something about this wretched man!?” The woman protested again.

At that moment, the two policeman who had scrambled after the girl, suddenly reappeared, but not before she had dashed back inside, carrying a weighty, burlap sack with a drawstring neck. She ran up to Hiko, holding up the bulging sack.

Hiko plucked it out of the child's hands and tossed it at the feet of the offended Sergeant. The child, meanwhile, slipped around behind Hiko and grabbed a double fistful of his mantle, hiding herself.

“That is full of stolen items. Jewellery, idols, knives, anything very small and very valuable.” Hiko said. “It was in her possession.” He looked at Saito as he nodded his head at the woman. “And stolen by him.” He indicated Shouta.

“They were stolen by that wretched little Momo!” the woman snapped indignantly, she pointed at the child. 

Saito suddenly reached up and pulled the cigarette from his lips, letting it dangle between two fingers. He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head at the futility of it all. It was time to stop the circus.

“You just admitted that bag is full of stolen goods.” He said to the woman cuttingly. “Not a bright move on your part, but I shouldn't expect anything less.” Saito said dryly, eliciting a huff of amusement from Hiko. “Sergeant, arrest them both. If I'm not mistaken these are the heads of the theft ring that has been a seriously pain in my ass.”

“How dare you!” the woman screeched. “That worthless child is the one who's been sent into people's home to get that stuff...”

“Keep digging that grave...” Saito replied fixing her with a predatory glare. He looked at Hiko who had turned to pick the girl back up.

“Who is this child?” Saito asked.

“She's Momo! Shouta-sama's slave!” the woman snapped before Hiko could answer.

“You got proof of that?” Saito asked. 

A sour sneer appeared on the woman's lips and she stepped over to the groaning Shouta. Her hand slipped under his robe and she extracted the flat leather pouch he carried on him. “Ownership papers are in here!” she said, shooting a triumphant look at Hiko as she handed the pouch to Saito.

Saito stuck the cigarette back between his lips and took the pouch, glancing at Hiko. He had his attention on the child. She gingerly rubbed the palm of her hand over her swollen eye. He watched as Hiko shook his head, reaching up to pull her hand away. The girl sighed, turned away and laid her head on his shoulder. She clutched the lapel of the mantle he was wearing.

Saito tugged the drawstring open as he watched the interaction between the man and the child. He looked inside then glanced at the woman.

“Well?” she sniped. 

Saito tossed it at her, smirking as she fumbled for it. “It's empty,” he stated.

She froze, then looked down at the pouch, in horror.

“Sergeant, arrest these two and start processing whatever is in that sack. These two...” he glanced at Hiko and the child. “I'll interview them in my office.” He stood up straight, pinching the cigarette between thumb and forefinger as he took a quick drag. “Care to step this way?” He asked Hiko.

Hiko, looking a tad disgruntled, dropped his hand in the crook of the o-katana. He sniffed his disdain of the entire situation before he smirked at the woman. The police began crowding around her and the stricken Shouta. Her protesting began in earnest. He resettled the girl on his hip then stepped through the doorway leading to the inner engawa of the station.

Saito flicked ash, then fell in, sliding the fusuma shut, before he led the way through the compound. He said nothing as he lazily smoked his cigarette. He reached a partially opening shoji panel and slid it open the rest of the way, allowing Hiko to enter first.

Decorum demanded that Hiko remove his sword, which he did, clutching it in his left.

“I suppose, I should thank you for removing a particularly irritating thorn in my side.” Saito stated as he stepped into the room and past the low table he had been working at earlier. He indicated Hiko could sit before lowering himself to the floor.

“Somebody had to clean up that mess up there.” Hiko replied, setting the child on the floor. He pulled his mantle off. Folding it loosely, he set it on the floor next to him before he settled in seiza. Hiko patted the folded cloth. The child, whom Saito couldn't help but notice looked very tired, promptly dropped onto it, curling into a little ball, and looked over at him through her one good eye.

“I hear that's what you do,” Saito said dryly as he settled across the chabudai from Hiko. “Clean up messes...”

Hiko let out a snort of amusement. 

“Am I right in my assessment that you are Himura the Battosai's master?” Saito asked, scrounging up his ashtray.

“That baka?” Hiko asked, sliding his o-katana between himself and the child, still in fast reach. “He certainly gets around.” He added dryly. “And would I be right in saying you are one of Kondo-sama's Mibu Roshigumi?” Hiko asked.

That stopped Saito in his tracks. He stared at Hiko, his amber eyes reflecting his surprise. Hiko's grasp of past history was impressive indeed. “That would be correct...” he said slowly. His brain urged him, never, ever, underestimate this man!

“That poor, unfortunate fool tried to recruit me, way back then.” Hiko said and saw the look of indignation start to rise in Saito's piercing gaze. He held a hand to stop him. “I mean no offence to Kondo-sama. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He also knew what he was getting into but that doesn't mean he shouldn't have been treated with the respect and honour due him.”

Saito slowly scrutinised Hiko. “You remained neutral?” he asked.

“My sword style demands it. I can't be defeated. In the wrong hands, on the wrong side, Hiten Mitsurugi Ryu can be devastating. Look at the results. That baka of mine proved that. And they say his side won...” Hiko let that hang as he smirked at Saito.

Saito just snorted and shook his head, taking one last drag on his cigarette before stubbing the end out in the ashtray.

“Kind of risky, letting a Shinsengumi wolf loose amongst the Meiji police force, isn't it?” Hiko asked. “You've got to be Saito Hajime. I've heard of you. I would think the new Meiji government would want to do to you what they did to Kondo Isami.”

Saito let out another bark of sardonic laughter. “For someone who's been holed up in that mountain of yours making pottery,” Saito replied dryly, he let his humour glint in his eyes. “You certainly have an impressive amount of information about people.”

Hiko huffed with amusement. “I have my own networks providing me with relative news and information. Besides, I agreed with what the shogunate was trying to do, coming up with a way to reign in and control of the chaos on the streets. I'd heard of the Mibu wolves exploits following Kenshin's activities.”

Saito smirked. “The government officially knows me as Fujita Goro, and they are desperate for experienced officers. A lot of them just looked the other way.” He gazed speculatively at Hiko. “So you're the one responsible for the Manslayer?”

“I am not responsible for his actions. I trained him. He was my apprentice. He went off on his own. Against my direct orders. He paid the price for his foolishness.” Hiko said flatly, the smirk gone and his black eyes bored into Saito's.

“Still, your sword style created an assassin no one has been able to defeat. Although I've come damned close...”

“He still defeated you,” Hiko replied. “and that madman Shishio.”

Saito smirked at him. “My Gatotsu and his Hiten Mitusrugi, both times we've fought, has ended in a draw. Mostly because of his hypocritical vow and that ridiculous sword he carries.”

“Are we here to discuss my idiot of an apprentice or would you rather clear up this theft mess you haven't been able to solve?” Hiko needled.

“I was only just sent down here to mop up the mess they've been making,” Saito growled. “With any governmental transition, there are bound to be many hitches in the process of getting things to work smoothly.” He studied Hiko again. “It will work out and this nation will gain a properly functioning police force.”

“But until then, people like me are stuck doing your job!”

“You could get handsomely paid for the efforts if you'd break that stubborn neutrality you have.” Saito commented, his eyes narrowing as the two continued mutually irritating the other.

Hiko suddenly laughed. “I've no need be paid handsomely. I earn quite a tidy profit with my pottery and Kintsuki work. That very Kintsuki just solved that theft case for you.” Hiko steered the conversation back to the subject at hand.

Saito let him, for the moment, “Kintsurugi eh?”

“The best one for several prefectures. They all come to me. Its no secret I have gold up there to work with. I was just one fat tempting target for that dungheap Shouta and the ice queen.”

“So who is this child? Momo is her name?” Saito asked raising an eyebrow, glancing at the child.

Hiko rolled his eyes, shaking his head. “As you can see,” his hand unconsciously dropped onto the child's shoulder. “Fate hasn't been kind. At the moment she can't even speak. I caught her stealing food from my home. She'd been ill used and abandoned. Spent three weeks nursing her back to health when Shouta and his crew turned up in the village claiming her. I had to let her return. He promptly sent her back up to my place to steal my gold. She looked like this when she got there.” 

“So she is his slave?” Saito asked.

“Can I have a match?” Hiko suddenly asked. 

Saito frowned at the odd request. Then he picked up his little box and tossed them at Hiko.

He fisted it out of the air, and pulled one out, before leaning forward and setting the box on the low table.

“On'nanoko?” Hiko murmured, looking down at the child. 

Her good eye looked up at him, then she reached into her sleeve and pulled out a folded piece of paper. 

Saito watched Hiko smirk at the child as he took the paper from her fingers. He suddenly ran the wooden match up the fabric of his hakama, the friction causing the tip to ignite before he set the corner of the paper on fire. He shook the match out, leaning forward to drop it into the ashtray between himself and Saito. He gently turned and twisted the paper about letting it become fully engulfed before he finally dropped it amongst the stubbed out cigarette butts and spent matches.

Saito hadn't moved, just watching what was occurring. “You still didn't answer my question. Was she his slave and did she steal those items?”

“She isn't a slave.” Hiko murmured, a glint of mischief in his black eyes.

“Then who is she?”

“This...” Hiko glanced down at her, then back up at Saito. “This is Emiko.”

“Blessed child?” Saito asked, his eye's widening.

“Of course. I've recently taken her on as my apprentice, now haven't I? I'd say she's blessed and damned lucky.”

Saito didn't move. He just looked at Hiko and blinked. 

Once. 

“Apprentice..?”

Hiko shot an aggrieved look his way, before rolling his eyes. “ _Must_ I repeat myself?”

“She's your apprentice?” Saito asked, carefully controlling the astonishment he felt. Much less at the blatantly audacious lying Hiko had just committed. Saito's amber eyes hardened and ire started to build in his chest. He growled, “You're not going to...

“Pottery, idiot. Pottery.” Hiko cut him off, shaking his head at him. “I _am not_ teaching a girl Hiten Mitsurugi!” He sat back, and looked down at the child. “Besides, she's broken a shelf load of greenware and needs to work at replacing them. I'm going to show her how.”

Saito sat back on his heels and stared at the pair. Hiko just sat there, arrogant and damned sure of himself. The child just looked between Hiko and himself. He finally shook his head. “The Battosai's never going to believe this...”

“That idiot doesn't need to know anything about it,” Hiko grumbled.

Saito suddenly smirked at him. He let the hard glitter of sadistic mischief gleam in eyes. There was no way he wasn't going to tell Himura-san this news. Hiko saw his resolve and shook his head with a sigh.

“During that three weeks I discovered this little creature has a natural talent at minimalism in carving. And since I'm a master potter, and some pots are carved, I decided she needed a Master to guide her.”

“Taking her on as your apprentice.” Saito stated. He shook his head. “Have you any idea how to raise a child?” He looked at the girl, who was drowsing off.

Hiko looked affronted. “Kenshin survived to adulthood didn't he?” 

Saito could only stare at the man across from him. The man had raised and trained the most notorious assassin in all of Japan. 

Hiko sighed, shaking his head. “For your information,” he replied. “Not that its any of your business, but I was the middle child of seven siblings.”

“And that is relevant how in the raising of a child? Particularly a girl?” Saito shot back. “You've led a hermit's existence in the mountains for decades!”

“I was the only boy.”

Saito stopped and stared. He then began fumbling for his cigarettes, appalled at how suddenly and desperately he needed one.

“Besides, its not like I'm adopting a child. I've raised one apprentice, I can raise another. Somehow I don't see this one becoming a killer with pottery.”

“With _you_ anything is possible,” Saito growled, popping the cigarette between his lips and snatching up the matchbox.

“Well it's satisfying someone recognizes a genius at work.” Hiko promptly fired back watching him light the match and then the cigarette.

“What do you plan on doing with Emiko now?” Saito asked.

“Probably should find a physician in town. Get her throat looked at. That brute did everything he could to silence her for whatever reason's he saw fit. Maybe check and see if her fractured skull has been aggravated.”

“Oh dear gods!” Saito muttered, drawing in a deep drag on the cigarette. He thought long and hard for a moment. “I'll see to it he gets put amongst the offenders who despise child abusers.” He let the smoke trickle out slowly and smirked at Hiko. 

“What a shame that would be...” Hiko replied dryly, smirking. He reached down, setting his hand on the girl's shoulder. “On'nanoko,” he said as he shook her gently. She struggled to wake up as both men got to their feet.

Saito took another long drag on his cigarette while Hiko slipped both his o-katana and his mantle back on. He held his hand down and the child took it. When he got her onto her feet she latched onto a fistful of his hakama and looking blearily at Saito.

Hiko picked her back up as she rubbed at her good eye. Settling her on his hip, he looked at her and lifted his lip up in a snarl.

For the first time since the whole farce in the station had began, Saito saw the girl smile. Her nose crinkled, eyes nearly shut, as she reached up and set a hand on Hiko's jaw. He just shook his head, glancing at Saito ruefully, as he laid her head back down on his shoulder.

“Emiko...” Saito murmured, shaking his head, watching her relax, sigh, and close her eyes. Blessed child indeed. His own eyes could see that a connection had been forged between Hiko and the girl. Anything would be better than leaving her in the hands of a pair that would beat and send in a child to steal for them. A satisfied smirk slipped into place on Saito's lips. 

He began to chuckle softly.

Besides, the Battousai sure as hell wasn't going to believe any of this!


	8. Chapter 8

Postscript: 

So yeah. 

I wrote this.

Interrupting me while in the midst of writing another story for a different fandom all together! 

My Musae aka The Wenches, absolutely wanted to find a way to drop Hiko into an unexpected and unwanted situation and see how he would react, humour, humiliation and all. I needed something fun to toy with and here it is.

Not to say I don't like Hiko, I actually love him to pieces. He and all of his cocky self assurance. The only thing I don't like about Hiko is that gawd-awful red & white cloak from the anime! For that matter... I fell hard for Hiko when I saw the absolutely delicious Fukuyama Masaharu in character as Hiko and just how badass he played him in the movies. Gaahhhh! He is fabulous!! Also, that mantle he wore in the films was much, much, more realistic than that thing he wears in the manga... my fanfic loving heart had to fix that. 

Then I decided he just couldn't fade into anonymity and retire. He had to have an encounter with a little girl and just what kind of humorous situations he and this child could end up in? It begged for me to write it.

To add icing to the cake, Saito kept insisting he had to be involved in this matter as well. Enter Eguchi Yosuke. Oh my soul, he is brilliant! I began digging into Saito Hajime and discovered just how very real and very impressive the real individual was!

All of this led me to began to wonder... 

Had Hiko and Saito ever met during that tumultuous period of time in Japan? What would an encounter between them be like? Saito would know some hints about Hiko for sure, he just had that impressive of an information network. But Hiko was no slouch either and I could so see Kondo Isami try and recruit him. It is implied that folks tried to get Hiko to pick a side. He steadfastly remained neutral.

Also just a note on the swords... Katanas were the main stay, also called nihontou's (basically sword in Japanese.). Hiko being as tall as he is, in the manga and anime, had one that was exceptionally long. If my researching is correct, katana's longer than average length were called o-katana's. (anything with a blade longer that 27-29 inches. I figure Hiko's was about 33”. It would accommodate his height and his style extremely well.) Plus, I just love the one he carries in the movie as well. It just look way too cool!

So yeah, I decided Hiko and Saito had to meet, and what better than over this child who literally got dropped onto Hiko's mountain. And well there you have it. Teej's first attempt a a crack fic, LOL!

And in that humorous vein, I love to come up with summaries for my fics. Summaries are fun to write. The trick is to keep them below 15 words. As this fic kept blooming in my head, the summaries went wild and so I listed a few...

Summaries –

Hiko Seijuro XIII, Master Swordsman, gets pwned by a 6 year old girl. - 13

Hiko Seijuro is totally dad material. He just refuses to admit it. - 12

Hiko Seijuro XIII takes on another apprentice. It's not what you think... - 12

He wanted to retire and live out his life in peace. Then she shows up. - 15

The Fickle Finger of Fate isn't finished with Hiko Seijuro XIII. Much to his disgust. - 15

How to train your master swordsman. - 6

Hiko just wants to fade off into oblivion. The Fickle Finger of Fate says otherwise. - 15

Hiko discovers history does, indeed, repeat itself. - 7

Hiko Seijuro XIII is sensing terrible deja vu. And he's none too happy. - 13

Fate refuses to let Hiko retire and make his pots; much to his disgust. - 14

You can sorta see which one I eventually picked. :)

As always, any mistakes, especially in working with the Japanese language and its incredible variety of nuances and honorific's, is all mine. Any help there would be appreciated, by the way. All the other mistakes are mine too.


End file.
